


I've Always Been A Storm

by ShellySkylark



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, Marijuana, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-08-28 07:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16718656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShellySkylark/pseuds/ShellySkylark
Summary: Against her better judgment, Britta Perry helps Professor Duncan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Begins at the Transfer Dance in "Pascal's Triangle Revisited", then quickly shifts into an Alternate Universe.  
> Please note that I changed the timeline of the episode around in this story (again, it's not canon-friendly).  
> I don't own the characters from the show; however, I'll introduce a few original characters as this story progresses.  
> Story title inspired by the Fleetwood Mac song "Storms".

"Dancing in your underwear, taking air conditioner repair..."

  
A groan escaped the lips of an intoxicated Dr. Ian Duncan. In the most dramatic fashion he could cook up, the psychology professor leaned his head against a wall inside Greendale Community College's dingy cafeteria.

  
Yet another pointless dance to end another pointless school year, and he'd rather be anywhere but here, even if it meant sitting at home alone drinking existence away.

Duncan sighed again and became slightly agitated at the fact that he was going home to nothing tonight, if he found his way home at all. When he was younger he would stagger into a bar, take any willing woman and fumble his way through awkward and terrible sex in dark alleys, the back seat of his car, or sometimes in strange studio apartments.

  
Now, he can't remember when things changed. Now, he can't even find his way into a bar. He can't even recall the last time he slept with anyone. Not that any of that mattered anymore; he was hardly the young foreigner whose exotic accent caused panties to fly off in drunken lust.

  
Ian tilted his head back down to survey the sorry scene: scores of underachievers and life's losers. _Just like me_ , he told himself as his eyes landed on Britta Perry, fuck buddy to his friend Jeff Winger, who was trying to resurrect his legal career. Britta Perry, once an accomplished protest leader, now “finding herself” in community college and competing for meaningless titles like Transfer Queen. It didn't help that she was drop dead gorgeous, especially that night: the tight black dress she wore for the dance stirred up long-dormant desires and caused his heart to somersault inside his chest. He was ignoring the swelling feeling in his pants because he knew that part of him would start off promising, then literally peter out in the end.

  
It also didn't help that earlier he had struck out with Professor Michelle Slater, who was also fucking Jeff. Ian didn't think he could fall any lower than he had that night. _Loneliness, I know thee well_ , he told himself.

  
Duncan downed another glass of cheap white wine, hopelessly trying to forget his troubles and desperately trying to steer his thoughts away from Britta. He was foolish to think a woman like her would ever be interested in a guy like him. She needed someone stable to love her, not a guy who struggled to stay afloat against floods of depression and alcoholism. Britta needed a man who could listen to her problems, really listen to them. He had been her therapist through much of that school year but admitted that he only listened to her speak half the time and stared at her body the other half. Why? Duncan found that he couldn't get through every day without a few glasses of wine, which dramatically lessened his capacity for listening and caring. Now he felt guilty that he wasn't always “present” to help her reconcile some truly horrific experiences. And he hated himself because he knew that she knew that he was wasting her time. She essentially said so after their final therapy session.

  
At some point, he remembered to put his car keys in the taco meat (where he knew no one would find them) before he got lost in more wine and self-loathing.

  
The minutes ticked by before Duncan noticed that Britta and Professor Slater were fighting over Jeff. _Of_ course _they were_. They couldn't possibly ever think to fight over him, not when the king of spray tans gave them an iota of hope that he could change his tomcat ways and become “boyfriend material” overnight.

  
“Fuck it,” he muttered to himself as he stumbled on to the stage. _I want Britta to notice me._

  
He didn't expect all that alcohol to dull his sense of modesty; Duncan truly struggled to get on to the stage next to his fetish-friendly boss, Dean Craig Pelton, and that old fart Pierce Hawthorne, who was stinking up the stage with his blatant rip-off of Bruce Hornsby. “Booooo!” he hollered as everyone scolded Jeff for his chronic fear of commitment. “Everybody close their faces. All right, he's got a lot on his mind, leave him alone.”

  
All eyes shifted from Spray Tan to him. “I got it from here,” he declared as he noticed Britta starting at the floor, sullen. _I'll get you to look at me, Miss Perry_. “My name is Professor Ian Duncan. And I would like to rap for you. Drop a beat!” _Oh fuck, what am I doing? Fuck it_. “Uh oh. My name is Ian Duncan and I'm here to say: I'm gonna rap to the beat in a rapping way. I've got a REAL BIG PENIS and I drink lots of tea.”

  
The Dean stepped in and stole his thunder. _So much for that, then_.

  
“You're suspended,” was all Duncan remembered his boss saying in the midst of a wine-induced fog. At one point (maybe a few seconds later? He couldn't remember... there were dalmatians and hurt feelings) former professor Ben Chang popped up with a roll of quarters, then a flash of light and pain... lots of pain, and metallic smells, and liquid all over his face. Chang had punched him, then punched him again, and again. Then he was on the ground, trying to fight off a torrent of fists above him.

  
Britta's eyes followed Jeff as he ran out of the cafeteria (sans Slater, she noticed hopefully), then turned her attention back to the dance after people started hollering. The dalmatian-clad men were trying to pull Chang off someone. She grew worried when she saw that someone's blood was on his fists. _He's gonna kill someone_ , she told herself. _I've got to stop him_. 

  
“Hey!” Britta yelled over the crowd that gathered around the fight. She pushed her way through the gawking mass, then shoved the dalmatian men aside before grabbing Chang by the collar of his shirt and staring maliciously into her former Spanish teacher.

  
“Get the fuck out of here!” she screamed at him through clenched teeth.

  
“Pssh, since when is HE your buddy?” Chang muttered before he disappeared into the crowd.

  
When she looked down at his victim, Britta gasped. Professor Duncan was holding his hands over his nose and mouth, but blood was still seeping through his fingers. Britta knelt next to him as he struggled to sit up.

  
“Professor Duncan?” she addressed him softly once he was able to sit up. At that moment, all feelings of malice she previously held for her psychology professor vanished, and her innate need to help people took over.

  
Ian looked at her wearily. “Mmm yeah?” he replied. _Britta? It can't be. My little rap worked!_

  
Britta slipped her arms under his armpits to bring him to his feet. Her concern for the man was growing. “We need to get you checked out. You don't look great.”

  
“When do I ever?” he replied with a drunken chuckle.

  
Britta shrugged, her distaste threatening to overcome the caring attitude she adopted toward Duncan as of late. “I'm not gonna answer that. Come on, let's go. I'm driving. Where are your keys?"

  
Ian's eyes were getting heavy from the booze. "Um... the, uh, taco meat. Maybe?"

  
She grabbed her professor and gently pushed him toward the refreshments table. "Well, you can reach in there and get it yourself."

  
"Fine," he muttered as he shook off his jacket and handed it to Britta. She neatly folded it over her arm and noticed it was a fine velvet piece, maybe even vintage (she didn't want to admit publicly that she thought he had an eccentric fashion sense that she appreciated, even if she didn't care much for the man under the clothes). She also noticed that the jacket smelled pleasant, almost like cigar smoke and a nice cologne. _Oh god, is he staring at me?_ She looked up to see that Duncan was rolling up his shirt sleeves to retrieve his keys, and had his back turned to her.

  
Britta's eyes lingered on his form, for she had never paid too much notice to it before. She admired the shoulder muscles that flexed beneath the dark vest as he wrestled with the sleeves, then her attention rested on his posterior (and what a fine ass it was!). _Get a grip_ , she warned herself. _He's vile_.

  
However, Britta gasped when she saw a bandage wrapped around his left wrist and feared the worst: that Professor Duncan was harming himself. _I'm going to ask him about THAT later_ , she noted as she held the velvet jacket a little closer to her body, hoping to get another sample of its wonderful scent.

  
"Got it," he groaned as he wiped the taco meat off the keys, then his right hand. "Let's go."

  
\---

  
Britta was beginning to get sleepy when Professor Duncan was finally brought in to get his nose looked at. Thankfully she was allowed to go back to the examination room and watch something else going on instead of rereading the same articles in the five-year-old magazines in the waiting room.

  
“Your nose is very broken, Ian,” the doctor said after inspecting the damage done.

  
 _No shit_ , Britta said to herself. The coffee was not helping keep her positive, or alert. At least Professor Duncan was being nice about all of it. Maybe it was the painkillers they gave him...

  
Finally the doctor put a splint on, and they could get out of there.

  
Duncan looked down at her as they walked out to his car.

  
“Um, thank you for, uh, driving me to the doctor,” he addressed her humbly. He didn't sound as drunk as he was earlier in the evening. “You didn't have to do that, y'know.”

  
“What else were you gonna do?” she replied, refusing to look at her professor. “Probably just lay there and let Chang kill you.”

  
Duncan frowned. “I would like to make it up to you. After all, you left the Tranny Dance on my account.”

  
“Psh, I didn't even win,” Britta added bitterly. “Annie text me while you were passed out in the waiting room. That tramp Danielle Harmon won.”

  
“Did you really even want to win Tranny Queen? You put up a lot of resistance against the idea during our final therapy session.”

  
Britta crossed her arms over her chest. “At first I didn't, but it kinda grew on me when I was called to the stage.”

  
Duncan rubbed his chin with his hand. It didn't escape his notice that she seemed cold. “And maybe when you found that Jeff and Professor Slater were likely to reconcile?”

  
Britta laughed at his attempt to therapize her. “No way. You're just butthurt that you struck out with Slater at the dance.”

  
“I regret nothing. Would you like to wear my jacket? You don't look comfortable.”

  
She knew she wasn't going to get a rise out of him that night, and nodded. “Thank you, professor. Can I take you home? You're probably not good to drive with all those painkillers in your system. And, you might still be a little drunk.”

  
Ian stopped, shrugged off his jacket, then slipped it over her shoulders. “I'm not as think as you drunk I am. And I would really like to make it up to you for taking me to the doctor. Maybe we can continue our therapy sessions? We were making some progress there at the end.”

  
Britta smirked in Duncan's direction, then resumed walking toward his car. “Are you going to pay attention this time? No, I want you to cook for me.”

  
Ian's swollen eyebrow arched at the suggestion. “I think that can be arranged. Anywhere, anytime!”

  
Britta cracked a smile at the idea. _Oh, this I've GOT to see! Maybe I'll get him to wear Shirley's apron!_ “Come on, I'll take you home. Can you manage giving me directions without fucking THAT up?”

  
\---

  
Professor Duncan unlocked the door and motioned for Britta to enter first. It was mostly dark inside his house, but Britta could see well enough that she was in his living room.  
She was greeted with the same pleasant scent on Ian's jacket: cigars and fine cologne, plus a hint of weed (she didn't peg him to be THAT kind of guy). When he flipped on the lights next to the front door, Britta took a quick glance around. Her psychology professor was tidy... almost obsessively so. Her high heels rested on glossy wood floors that were original to the house, and were marked by years of regular wear and tear, but waxed enough to minimize any serious damage. She glanced over at the red brick-accented fireplace, which had housed decades worth of fires in it. On each side were old wooden shelves stuffed with books of all sizes; Britta assumed most of them dealt with some aspect of psychology. Facing the fireplace was a large dark leather recliner; it was evident its owner spent a lot of time in it, probably reading the books from the wall. Two large windows were hidden by massive dark curtains which also seemed to be original to the house. An assortment of paintings and Rorschach test patterns dotted the walls and hung over a large leather sofa that rested near the recliner and anchored a massive saddle blanket that draped the floor as a rug. She was already in love with this eccentric place, even if she frequently found its owner abhorrent.

  
Without even thinking, she toed off her heels and placed them neatly against the wall where several of Duncan's shoes rested, then slipped off the velvet jacket and handed it back to its current owner.

  
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice close enough that it brushed against her skin. Britta shivered, mostly from the draft of his breath but also from the possibility lurking beneath its tone. Since taking him to the hospital, Duncan had assumed a gentler disposition with his student. Gone was the impatient and often insulting attitude he typically took others. Some energies had shifted on this timeline, and she let it alter her perception of him.

  
“Is it cool if I crash on your couch?” Britta blurted without first considering what that meant. “I live pretty far and I don't want to fall asleep in some random taxi. You can drive me back to Greendale tomorrow so I can get my car.”

  
This can't be real, Ian said to himself before he nodded to her request. “Do you – do you want something more comfortable to change into? I can't imagine that dress is comfortable enough.”

  
Britta turned to face the bruised Brit. He regarded her with patience, though both his eyes and much of his face was turning black and purple from Chang's punches. "That would be great, professor, thank you."

  
Ian smiled at her then walked down a hall into what she assumed was his bedroom. As she stared at his form disappearing into the darkness, she had a sudden urge to follow him and see what his most private of sanctuaries looked like. Was it welcoming to weary visitors, or perpetually barren? How often did he share that bed with someone else?

  
The soft shuffle of sock-clad feet roused Britta from her thoughts. Duncan returned into the light of the living room carrying a plain green t-shirt and black sweatpants. "These should do," he greeted her. "I must insist that you take my bed. It's the most comfortable. I put on clean sheets just before I left for the Tranny Dance."

  
"Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you."

  
"Not a problem at all," he replied, handing her the pile of clothes. "It's the least I can do. The bathroom is the first door on the left. It should have everything you need for the night."

  
"Thank you, professor," Britta replied as she walked toward the bathroom to change into Duncan's clothes. She flicked on the light before closing the door behind her. The bathroom was minimalist but immaculate. For a depressed drunk, Professor Duncan certainly made up for it with a squeaky clean house.

  
Britta took a deep breath as she unzipped - then stepped out of - her dress. Refreshing air hit her bare skin and she just stood there for a moment, letting the air calm her down. _How did I find myself sleeping over at Ian Duncan's house? He's disgusting and will probably try to feel me up in my sleep_.

  
She looked over at the clothes Duncan had offered her. They looked like the best casual t-shirt and sweatpants he owned. _That was nice of him_ , she told herself as she slipped the pants on and tied the drawstring tight around her waist. _Maybe he's not so bad after all. Maybe I didn't make a mistake in coming here. Maybe I shouldn't be so irrational_.

  
When she put the shirt on she caught another hint of the familiar Duncan smell. She had never gotten close enough to the man to notice the scent but was glad she discovered this aspect of him. That smell would stay with her for the rest of her life, she was confident of it.

  
After quickly using the restroom, Britta walked back into the living room. Duncan was pulling an old quilt from the closet that stood next to the front door. She couldn't help but notice that he had traded in his posh three-piece suit for a ratty white t-shirt and red plaid pajama pants. He had never exposed his arms at school, so seeing so much of his pale skin exhilarated her. _He's not so bad, I guess...maybe only a little gross._

  
"Thank you for letting me sleep here," she addressed him. Duncan then turned to look at her, and she noticed that he lingered on how the borrowed clothes clung to her form. Her heart skipped a beat; his glances weren't lustful like Jeff's, but they still contained a longing that she couldn't quite place. And all of it excited her.

  
"No problem," her professor replied as he began to slowly walk in the direction in which she came. "Good night, Miss Perry. I'll be in the guest room next to the bathroom if you need anything."

  
\---

  
Britta exhaled heavily once she had closed the master bedroom door behind her. She had never even thought that she'd wind up here, of all places. In fact, she had never thought she'd ever be in a position to impose on her psychology professor's personal life like this. But, this crazy life had other plans for her and it somehow compelled her to stay in his house that night.

  
Duncan's bedroom was sparse, much like his bathroom, and had only a few paintings on the walls. _Does he paint?_ she wondered as her eyes focused on the disproportionately large closet. Again, immaculate. The clothes he wore that night were in the laundry basket where they belonged.

  
Britta sat on the bed, trying to calm her racing heart, still in disbelief that she was sleeping over. The bed was almost too luxurious for her taste, but beckoned her tired body. She slipped under the warm comforter and finally rested her head against one of the pillows, where she was comforted by the Duncan scent. Britta fell asleep almost immediately, her last waking thoughts resting on the man in the guest room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter mentions instances of self-harm.
> 
> This story is dedicated to the legendary English synth-pop band the Human League. It all began as a series of songfics but quickly became bigger than even the League. I wrote this chapter after listening to much of the 1981 album "Dare". May they continue synth-popping for years to come!

A different scent greeted Britta sometime in the morning. Coffee. _He must be awake._

 

This was perhaps the first Saturday morning in a long time where she wasn't nursing a hangover. But she couldn't help but worry about the state in which Professor Duncan would likely be. Not only had he drunk most of the wine at the Tranny Dance the night before, but he was likely coming down from the painkillers the doctor gave him at the hospital, and in agony over the broken nose and bruised face.

 

 _If he even remembers last night,_ she wondered. _What if he doesn't realize that I'm still here? What if he forgot the fact that he allowed me to sleep here last night? God that would be humiliating._

 

Britta pulled the warm comforter over her head, not quite ready to face the light of this day (although Professor Duncan had blackout curtains in his bedroom, not a whole lot of light was coming in at that hour and tempting her to stay where she was). The smell that she was introduced to last night – cigars and fine cologne – could have been soaked into these sheets. Britta closed her eyes and took in as much of it as possible, for she suspected that she may never get this physically close to him again.

 

Britta knew that she had to eventually get up and face whatever the world had in store for her that day. Although the idea seemed tempting, she accepted the fact that she couldn't lay in Ian Duncan's bed for the rest of her days and enjoy endless nights of the best sleep that capitalism could offer a recovering anarchist.

 

After a few more minutes of taking in his delightful smells, Britta finally pulled the comforter off her body and rose to greet the new day (hopefully it wasn't too late, she wondered, since she had to get home and feed her cats). She decided to take her time and explore this otherwise forbidden aspect of Professor Duncan's life.

 

Britta got out of bed and walked over to one of the paintings that hung on the walls of his bedroom. At first glance, it was a portrait of a clown in bright acrylic paints. But when she examined it closer, she began to wonder if Duncan was the subject: the clown had shaggy inky black hair, large nose, and chocolate brown eyes. Yet he was a sad, crying clown, with real tears intermingled with those painted on his face.

 

 _Odd choice of subject with all those bright, happy colors,_ Britta mused. _Maybe this is what depression looks like._

 

She then turned to survey the rest of Duncan's room. All of his personality seemed to be left behind in his living room, as if that was the place where he spent most of his time. She then tiptoed into the large closet and turned on the light, where she was greeted by color-organized shirts, pants, and jackets. _Maybe this is what OCD looks like._

 

Then she made her way to the nightstand, which she didn't realize existed until she woke that morning. On it was a digital alarm clock ( _What a fossil!_ ) and that month's issue of an academic journal: _Perspectives on Psychological Science. Yawn!_

 

“I should go check on him,” she whispered to herself. “Please don't be dead... or comatose.”

 

Britta inched toward the coffee smell until she discovered Professor Duncan sitting quietly at the kitchen table, struggling to read another academic journal and swirling around a mug in his hand. He looked worse than she had ever seen him: most of his face was covered in deep purple bruises, which were partially obscured by the nose splint. One of his eyebrows was swollen, but at least his glasses weren't broken in the fight, she noticed (she considered it a miracle that he didn't leave it behind at the dance, and especially not in the taco meat where it was his wont to leave his personal effects).

 

"Good morning, professor," Britta greeted him in her most cheerful voice. "How are you feeling?"

 

Duncan looked up at her, squinting. "I seem to remember feeling slightly worse after a Liverpool match when I drank my weight in lager and gin. Good morning, by the way."

 

Britta helped herself to coffee and sat down next to him at the table.

 

"Pat brought over bagels," Ian responded weakly, motioning to a plate at the center of the table. "My neighbor. Nice guy. Always has bagels, especially when he feels bad for me."

 

"That was nice of him," Britta said as she reached for one. “So do you remember anything from last night?”

 

Duncan tilted his head in response. “I didn't drink THAT much, Miss Perry. And... I remember a good bit of it. There are a few minutes in there that are a little foggy, between striking out with Michelle and getting my arse kicked by that weenie Chang. But I remember everything else!”

 

“At least you're honest about sucking at life,” she muttered between nibbles.

 

Ian set down his coffee mug with some force. “What about you?” he shot back in an annoyed tone. “You want to tell me what last night was all about when you were making an arse of yourself at the dance?”

 

Britta shot him a look of warning, and he continued. “Fighting with Professor Slater over Spray Tan?”

 

She closed her eyes annoyedly. “Oh, Jeff,” she remembered, neglecting the insult he flung at their mutual friend. She hadn't even thought of Winger since she first caught a whiff of the Duncan Redolence _(what does THAT even mean, paying attention to his smell?_ she wondered) _._ “I thought they were through before we fucked on the study room table. But I guess she changed her mind. While you were getting your ass kicked Jeff left the dance without her. I don't think he's tried to call me, so maybe there's a new bed warmer at the douchebag temple.”

 

“I see,” Duncan said. He was afraid to look Britta in the eyes, so he kept his concentration on the mug that lay on the table in front of him. “Do you honestly continue to cling on to hope that he's ever going to decide to settle down with any one woman, let alone you?”

 

Britta scoffed. “Jealous much, professor? I know all about your little crush, by the way. Jeff spills the beans when he's drunk. He left me a voicemail the night before the Valentine's dance and told me you wanted to seduce me. Did _you_ honestly think you were going to get with _me_ when I can still get men like _Jeff_?”

 

Ian groaned and rubbed his swollen temples when Britta caught a glimpse of the bandage that worried her last night. All attempts to shatter his resolve vanished, and once again her concerns shifted to his well-being.

 

"Let me see your arms," Britta said in a near-whisper as Duncan took a long sip of his coffee.

 

Her professor looked at her, almost with a sad shine to his eyes. "Why?" he asked after gulping down the hot liquid.

 

"I saw that bandage on your wrist."

 

Duncan shrugged before Britta continued. "Are you depressed?" she asked him.

 

He sighed and set down his mug. "Well look who's suddenly realized I exist," he added bitterly, the volume of his voice rising. “It wasn't but 30 seconds ago that you were trying to reject me despite the fact that I haven't even made a move on you. What does that say about you? OF COURSE I know I'll never have a chance with you, that's why I haven't made a move!”

 

"Just answer the question," she said in an annoyed tone. "Are you cutting yourself?"

 

Ian slammed his fist on to the table, frightening Britta. His eyes flashed with rage, which then dissipated into fear. "FINE," he said through clenched and crooked teeth, then furiously tore off the bandage tape and flicked off the gauze.

 

Britta gasped. Tell-tale clean cuts flashed in crusty crimson across his wrists. Her anger rose to levels she never allowed herself before. How could he be so selfish as to violate himself in such a way?

 

She clenched her fists in an attempt to regain her composure, but she failed and succumbed to tears of fury. "Why?" she nearly screamed. She didn't care if he saw her crying and shouting. He was a piece of shit for doing this.

 

Duncan only stared at her, his eyes tracing the tears down her cheeks.

 

"God damn it," Britta moaned through her sobs. "What the fuck, Professor Duncan."

 

"Oh, who cares!" Ian yelled. "Yes, I'm depressed. Yes, I did this to myself. Yes, I'm getting help. No, you don't need to worry about me. I don't know if I want you to, if you're just going to insult me all the time. You can fuck right off!"

 

Britta wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm still going to worry about this, dipshit," she replied weakly. “And right fucking back at you!”

 

Ian grimaced at the sight. He hated himself for putting her in such a state. "Please stop crying," he muttered.

 

"I'm trying, damn it. I can't stand to see people doing this to themselves. It's fucked up and selfish."

 

Duncan took another long sip of his coffee, trying to regain composure himself, then addressed her. "Just so you're aware, I've only done this once... EVER. I slipped up one night and regretted it instantly. I'm not some heartless bastard who's hell-bent on self-destruction."

 

Britta crossed her arms over her chest, which didn't escape his notice (her breasts tended to perk up when she did that). "That's good,” she warned. “I'll kick your ass if you ever do it again."

 

He offered her a small smile. "I'm going to hold that against you, and I'll be ready," he said softly, which elicited a chuckle from her.

 

"Can I help you put another bandage on?" Britta offered, trying to defuse the remaining tension between them.

 

Ian nodded in return. "If you'd like. Top shelf in the bathroom."

 

Duncan sighed as he watched her form disappear into the hallway. He didn't expect any woman – no less Britta Perry, whom he'd been interested in for nearly a year – to care about him in that way. It was a new experience, but he knew he needed to remain realistic or disappointment would surely fell him.

 

Britta returned with a bandage roll, some gauze, and a hand towel. Duncan turned his body in his seat to face her.

 

“Thank you,” he said humbly as she placed the roll of bandage tape and gauze on the table and walked over to the sink to get the towel wet.

 

“No problem,” she said cheerfully, adding hand soap to the towel. She then walked back over to the table and pulled her chair up to where Duncan was still sitting. “Hold out your arm for me.”

 

He did so without protest. Britta rested his arm in her hand, and studied it, trying to remember what his skin felt like, how soft his hairs were ( _though he's still vile!)_. Then, her eyes landed on the cuts. They were neat, as if he took his time in doing the devious deed.

 

"Did it hurt?" Britta asked as she gently rubbed the towel over his wound.

 

Duncan studied the careful actions of his student. "Yeah, it did. Quite a bit, actually."

 

"Well I guess you learned your lesson," she noted as she placed a clean piece of gauze on the scabby bits of his wrist.

 

"I did indeed. But at least I was smart enough to do it in the bathtub. Easier to clean up."

 

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," Britta said, attempting to ignore the matter-of-fact way in which he described his self-violation. She unraveled some medical tape, then looked into his eyes.

 

"Ditto."

 

"Hold on to that gauze for a second."

 

Duncan felt his heartbeat quickening as he did just that. Britta began to wrap the tape around his wrist, holding on to it as she did so. She couldn't help but notice that his breathing became a little more labored, but pretended as though she was oblivious to the obvious: that he was getting excited.

 

"All done," Britta said sweetly. She rested her eyes on his gaze. He had eyes like a cup of coffee on a winter morning, something that she normally would embrace without a moment's hesitation. But this situation was just weird.

 

 _Don't do this,_ her inner voice warned her. _He's your teacher, for fuck's sake. He's disgusting and way more fucked up than you are. He can't be saved and you shouldn't even try._

 

Duncan furrowed his brows when he noticed that Britta continued to stare at him. “What are you looking for now, any excuse to humiliate me again?”

 

“No, you ass,” she responded. “Just making sure my work was good enough.”

 

“But you weren't even looking at the bandage.”

 

“Shut up. You still have to drive me home. I need to get my car and feed my cats.”

 

“Can I finish my bloody coffee first?”

 

Britta smirked. “Sure.”

 

\---

 

_Britta opened her eyes and found herself on Duncan's recliner in the living room. She had a feeling something was horribly wrong._

 

_That's when she heard the shower running in the bathroom. “Professor Duncan?” she asked, but got no response. So she got out of the recliner and inched her way toward the sound of the running water._

 

_Britta knocked on the bathroom door, hoping not to catch him in a compromising position. Still nothing, so she tried the door handle. It was open. She walked in and looked toward the bathtub, then screamed._

 

_Professor Duncan was looking up at her, fully clothed, his eyes frozen in horror and partially hidden by soaking wet hair that plastered his head. His skin was paler than usual, and he was shaking. He had cut himself again, but worse this time. Blood was gushing out of deep and long cuts down both his arms and was pooling with the water from the shower around him._

 

“ _I-I-I... I'm sorry, B-Britta,” was all he could manage, his voice muffled by the water that assaulted his face._

 

_Britta couldn't move. She could only stare at the horrific scene in front of her. “You motherfucker,” she whispered. “You fucking promised me you wouldn't do this shit again.”_

 

“ _I'm sorry,” he repeated. The shaking was getting worse. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before slumping in the tub..._

 

Britta rose from her bed, sweaty and panting. Her cats were startled by the rude awakening, then meowed and ran out of her bedroom.

 

She looked around her, trying to get a sense of what was really happening. She was dreaming. She just had to be.

 

 _I've got to go check up on him,_ she decided.

 

Britta made sure the cats had enough food and water for the night, then threw on some clothes and broke several traffic laws as she sped toward Duncan's house, middle of the night be damned.

 

She tried to shake off an irrational fear that something had happened to him since he dropped her off at the Greendale parking lot earlier in the day. Then she felt odd that she was feeling anything apart from disgust for Duncan.

 

As soon as the car screeched in front of the house, Britta launched herself from it and bounded up the walkway. She forsook all notion of propriety and pressed the doorbell several times, then pounded her fists on the door as hard as she could manage.

 

“Answer the fucking door,” she muttered under the breath. After a few seconds had passed she heard some cursing just behind the door before she was greeted by a t-shirt and pajama pant-clad Professor Duncan. He reeked of booze, a lot of it.

 

“Miss Perry?” he inquired sleepily. “What's going on? It's two in the bloody morning.”

 

“I just had a nightmare with you in it, and I can't stop thinking about it. I need to make sure you're not going to hurt yourself again.”

 

Duncan blinked while he tried to process all that she just told her. Then he motioned for her to come inside, though with some hint of hesitation. “Let's talk about it.”

 

Once he had shut the front door behind them, Britta spun around and grabbed his arms to inspect them. Apart from the bandage she put on earlier, his arms were unadulterated. “You didn't do it,” she whispered.

 

Ian led her to the couch and guided her to sit down. “What the bloody hell is going on with you, Miss Perry?”

 

Britta took a moment to regain her composure, and stared into his bloodshot eyes. “I had a nightmare that you did it again. I walked in the bathroom and you had cut yourself, only worse that time. There was blood everywhere. I think you were...”

 

“No need to go any further,” Duncan interrupted. He held up his arms to show her again. “See? I'm fine. No blood, no wounds!”

 

Britta sniffed, trying to fight back tears.

 

Duncan huffed. “I told you earlier, Miss Perry, I'm taking care of all this. I slipped up once but I know not to do it again. You don't need to worry about me. In fact, I'd rather you not do so in the middle of the night while I'm trying to sleep off my hangover.”

 

Britta offered a sad smile. “Can I stay over here for a few days? For my sanity? I don't want you hurting yourself again.”

 

Ian smiled back at her. “Sure. Tell you what, I've got some weed. Let's fire up the bong after I sober up, and if you'd like to talk about this more I'll be all ears. But rest soundly knowing that I have not harmed myself since you last saw me, and I have no plans of doing it again.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“You can take my bed again if you wish. I put on new sheets. It's only got a little of me in them, no vomit. I know you find me disgusting and all.”

 

“No comment,” Britta replied, almost teasingly, though she was curious by the vomit comment. The drunken Limey must do that all the time.

 

 _Yet another thing I have to fix,_ she noted as she wished Duncan a good night and headed to his bedroom.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost deja vu. For the second day in a row, Britta woke up in a place she had never imagined she would be: Ian Duncan's bed.

 

A nightmare had brought her speeding back to his house in the dead of night, but she was able to rest easy once it was confirmed that that nightmare wasn't realized. It was in his bed where she got the best sleep of her life, where she felt safe and warm and comforted by the now-familiar smells of cigars and fine cologne.

 

Britta opened her eyes relaxed and refreshed. Now she could share her fears with Duncan, and maybe keep him from hurting himself again. He had promised her he wouldn't, but he was also an alcoholic (and was sleeping off a hangover when she disturbed his rest just hours before), so she didn't quite believe that he wouldn't add self-harm to his list of addictions.

 

Once again, Britta smelled coffee and decided to head for its source. She took another glance at the sad clown painting that hung in Duncan's bedroom - briefly pondering its familiar subject - and walked out to join him in the kitchen.

 

Ian's head slowly rose when he heard her feet padding on the hardwood floors in the living room. His face was still severely bruised from the beating he got from Chang two nights ago. "Good morning, Miss Perry," he said in a gravelly tone. He was still hungover and barely functioning.

 

Britta walked over to the coffee pot to pour a cup for herself and briefly considered the fact that his bed head was kind of sexy but kind of not because he was still disgusting to her. "Good morning, professor," she replied. "How are you feeling?"

 

"Still hungover but the painkillers are numbing my face," Duncan said before raising up his arms. "See, look: I did NOT hurt myself since you went to bed!"

 

Britta smiled. "Thanks for the update, smart ass. And that's your own damn fault for being hungover."

 

"I know," Ian admitted. "I'm an alcoholic. I'll get to fixing that one of these days. Have to get through the immense self-loathing first."

 

"Maybe if you didn't drink so much you wouldn't hate yourself," Britta muttered.

 

"No shit," he said. "Alcohol has been a faithful companion of mine for many years. A hard mistress to send packing, I can assure you."

 

" _Has_ it been good to you?" Britta asked incredulously. "That's addict talk right there."

 

Duncan held his hands up, partly in defeat but also in an attempt to prevent another argument with her. "I get it," he said sternly.

 

Britta frowned. "Sorry."

 

"Let's talk about you now," Ian said in an ironically cheerful tone. "Want to tell me why you came screeching up to my door at an ungodly hour? I was having an intensely erotic dream involving the redhead librarian and that very sturdy study room table."

 

"First of all: gross. And I told you last night: I had a nightmare. You were at death's doorstep. You had slashed your wrists in the bathtub. I was concerned."

 

Duncan pointed a finger in Britta's direction. "And as I told YOU yesterday, it was a one-time mistake. I regretted it instantly. I'm not going to do it again.”

 

“I just need to be reassured.”

 

Ian nodded. “You can come to check in on me for as long as you have those concerns. Or you can stay here if that's your desire. I just don't want you to waste your time on unfounded fears.”

 

“It's not a problem,” she assured him. “It would put me at ease.”

 

Duncan provided a half-smile. “I don't want you to worry about me. I'll be fine.”

 

“We'll see about that.”

 

"So you're staying over tonight, then?"

 

"If that's okay with you."

 

"It is, but I want my bed back!" Ian exclaimed.

 

"Not a problem. I'm going to run home and get some clothes and check on my cats."

 

\---

 

Britta returned to Ian's house a few hours later. She hung around her apartment for awhile so as not to overstay her welcome with Duncan (though she was certain he enjoyed having another human being around in that old house). The cats didn't seem to notice her time away from her apartment, which was discouraging to her.

 

Her phone rang as she pulled her car up next to the curb, but she couldn't answer it in time. _Missed Call: Annie Edison. I wonder what she wants?_ Britta said to herself. _Maybe to gloat over my striking out with Jeff at the dance._

 

Britta decided not to call her friend back at that moment, grabbed an old gym bag full of her clothes (it once was stuffed with nickels), and walked toward the front door.

 

 _Should I knock?_ She asked herself. _He knows I'm coming back. Maybe it'll be okay if I just let myself in._

 

Britta cautiously opened the door so as not to startle Ian. “Professor Duncan?” she asked through the crack in the door.

 

“Come on in!” she heard his voice nearby. It was more cheerful than usual.

 

Britta slipped in and shut the door behind her before she saw that he was sitting in his recliner, reading an academic journal and sipping a comically large glass of wine. She toed off her sneakers and set the bag down next to them, then walked over to where Duncan was sitting.

 

“Is this all you do, read journals and drink?”

 

Ian scrunched his face to suggest that he was pondering that question, then he looked up at her. “I'm a professional. I have to stay abreast of all the latest research. Consequently, the alcohol loosens up my brain, which allows me to have a more liberal mindset on these ideas.”

 

Britta motioned toward the glass. “What are you drinking?”

 

Duncan picked up the glass and pondered its contents, making a similar facial expression as before. “Shiraz. Only the top shelf stuff for me. $14.99 at the corner store!”

 

Britta looked around at what was now becoming a familiar place for her. “I think your house is pretty cool, Professor Duncan. I like how you've decorated it.”

 

“You do?” he squeaked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ian set the wine glass on the coffee table. “It was my granddad's, before he died. He loved those old westerns and decided to dig up his roots and move to Colorado to get a taste of the life. When I came to live with him I was just accepted into the PhD program at CU. Boulder's a lot different from Oxford, I can tell you that!”

 

Britta's eyes turned wide at the revelation. “ _You_ went to Oxford?”

 

“I did indeed,” he replied. “Corpus Christi College.”

 

Her heart skipped a beat at the revelation. _Yeah, he's smart, but he's still vile. Watch it, Britta._

 

“So grad school brought you to Boulder?”

 

Ian clasped his hands together and sighed before shaking his head. “Granddad. He was dying and I was the closest family member to him. I lived here with him for a few years when I was a lad then moved back to England to go to university. I was on a gap year of sorts when he called me. It was a great comfort for him to have me around in those final months.”

 

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Britta replied.

 

“He was happy in the end, which is all that matters,” Duncan said with a smile and a sad twinkle to his eye. “Would you like something to drink? I have all manner of delectable things in the kitchen.”

 

Britta sat down on the couch. “Maybe a small glass of wine.”

 

Ian got up from the recliner and grabbed his glass. “I'll get it for you. I need a refill, myself.”

 

\---

 

"This is nice," Duncan said as he laid back against the sofa (Britta couldn't help but notice he didn't return to his recliner when he brought in her wine). He was already sounding ridiculous after only a second glassful.

 

"You don't get out much, do you?" she said, taking a sip out of her own glass.

 

"Nope," he replied. "Not lately, at least."

 

Britta studied the way he seemed to gulp down his booze like it was water. "Same."

 

Duncan set his glass down on the coffee table and crossed one of his legs over the other before resting his hands on his knee. "Now I find that hard to believe."

 

She turned her body toward his on the couch. "I know you have a crush on me and all, but a lot of guys find my personality off-putting. I think if you got to know me a little better you wouldn't like me so much anymore."

 

"What's not to like?" he asked with a shrug. "You're firm in your convictions, you're well-traveled, and you're kind... _to most people at least_. I could only be so lucky to find someone so well-rounded."

 

Britta stared at her hands, which rested in her lap. "It _is_ hard to find guys who aren't shallow, or looking for just one thing."

 

" _That part_ is a nice bonus," he noted matter-of-factly. "But, I'll take intellectual stimulation with someone over that of the physical."

 

She looked up at him incredulously. "But what about that steamy dream with the bimbo librarian in the study room?"

 

"I can't control the content of my dreams, but _Mariah_ doesn't interest me beyond that. She has no conviction beyond wearing ill-fitting sweaters. I would be done with all that in a week or so. I hope you don't find that boorish."

 

"So I'm not just a pretty face to you?"

 

Ian shook his head. "You fight for the little people, and you're aware of what's really going on in the world. That's more attractive to me in the long run. But I must admit that your pouty lips _are_ tempting sometimes!"

 

Britta leaned back against the couch cushion, disturbed by the fluttering sensation in her chest. "Wow, I never would have expected that from you, Professor Duncan... that you're not just another desperately horny man."

 

"I still have my urges like any other human, but I'm not like Winger, you know," he said, slightly offended. "Yes, I've told Jeff about my desire to be with you, but I'm not constantly thinking with my other head all day. I see more to you than a sexual conquest."

 

"I didn't think you were like him. I just couldn't look past all your hangups, I guess."

 

Ian shook his head. "That's not a good trait to have if you want to save mankind."

 

"I know I'm not good at it! I want to work on it, though. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here checking up on you."

 

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. "I don't need saving, Miss Perry," he said with a hint of warning.

 

Britta cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder, unsure as to why she made such a bold gesture. "Not entirely, you don't. We can work on your mental health... and your liver health!"

 

Duncan opened his eyes again and looked at the hand that was still on his shoulder. "You should probably take more than one psychology class before you attempt any therapy sessions," he said, hoping to mask the fact that he was shocked that her hand was there.

 

"Maybe for now we could try some mind-expanding forms of therapy?"

 

Duncan looked at her and shot her a big grin. "I'll get the weed!" he shouted as he bounded off the couch.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Britta jumps into the deep end too quickly, as she's wont to do. Wayyyyy too quickly!  
> I am indebted to the Human League for helping inspire this chapter, as well as the simmering sexuality of our favorite psych professor and his preferred student.

_“If it seems a little time is needed_

_Decisions to be made_

_The good advice of friends unheeded_

_The best of plans mislaid_

_Just looking for a new direction_

_In an old familiar way_

_The forming of a new connection_

_To study or to play”_

_-The Human League, “Fascination”_

\---

Morning came too quickly for Britta's liking. She struggled to keep her eyes open, and the faint head pounding and queasy stomach signaled the dreaded hangover that only seemed to get worse as she inched closer to 30.

She pulled the surprisingly soft comforter of the guest bedroom over her head, damning the sunlight that had been streaming in through the window for hours now. _That's right_ , she told herself. _I got drunk and high with Professor Duncan last night_. A brief sense of panic flashed in her mind, as she couldn't remember how much wine she drank after smoking a bowl with him the night before (she knows it was a lot, though). _We didn't do anything, did we? What the fuck was I thinking, doing that with my fucking psych professor of all people?_

Britta needed clarity and coffee, but first, to see a woman about the female equivalent of a horse. Once she slipped on some shorts and a tank top (she didn't remember dragging the gym bag to the guest room, but alas it was there when she woke that morning), she opened the door to sneak out. _I smell coffee. He's awake_.

Silence flooded the house, so she shrugged and groggily padded her way to the bathroom, half attentive to anything going on at that moment.

\---

Ian stood under the hot stream of water for what felt like hours, desperate for relief from his own hangover, as well as the immense pain from his broken nose. He also demanded some alone time, where he could attempt to process all that happened the night before.

He knew he shouldn't expect anything to develop between him and Britta. She had made it quite plain that she all but loathed his existence. But he also couldn't help but ponder her motives for staying at his house. Maybe she really wanted to learn to care for everyone, even if she couldn't stand them. Maybe she felt duty-bound to get him out of harm's way during the Tranny Dance. Maybe she was lying about hating him so much.

_Okay, that last bit is far-fetched_ , he told himself as he turned the faucet off. _Her displeasure for me seems genuine_.

But what if her feelings had changed? What if she was actively working on looking for his good qualities instead of defaulting to pointing out his shortcomings?

_Don't do this, chap_ , he warned himself. _Your expectations have fallen short before, and look how much it's hurt you_.

But he was brought back to one moment he did remember from the night before. He couldn't recall all of the details but he thought he made a lame joke which made Britta laugh anyway (was she just “being nice”? He didn't want to think about it). He remembered looking over and catching the moment her full lips curled up in a smile, and a geunine one at that. The memory of it crumbled his resolve and caused his cock to twitch in anticipation.

Duncan looked down at his swelling member. “Oh stop it, you,” he muttered bitterly. “I don't need that complication.”

He exhaled as he stepped out of the shower, and allowed the steam to linger on his naked skin. When that steam began to turn cold on his flesh, he grabbed one of the plush towels on the rack and brought it up to his head, exposing the rest of his body. He had to get the nose splint as dry as he could or it's back to the doctor's office for an interminable amount of agony in Waiting Room Hell.

He didn't immediately register the fact that the door was opening. “Oh my god!” he heard Britta exclaim.

_Shit. She's seen... it._

The towel immediately flew around his waist. Ian regarded her with horror, the whites of his eyes flashing brilliantly against the bruises around his face.

“Miss Perry,” he said, barely above a whisper, his shaky hands desperately grasping the towel that was tightly wrapped around his midsection. He didn't care that his breathing became noticeably labored in fear. How could he neglect to lock the sodding door when a woman was in the house? Because having a woman in the house was an otherwise foreign concept to him, that's why!

“I'm so sorry!” she blurted – an equal level of fear flashing across her flushed face - before running back out into the living room.

“No, no, wait!” he replied while fumbling to put on his glasses.

_I saw it_ , Britta screamed inside her mind. _I actually saw my teacher's junk_.

Her heart was racing at the idea of the illicit sighting when it hit her: she liked what she saw. She truthfully liked Professor Duncan's cock.

As she bounded back into a less confining space, she had time to process all the desirable aspects of this intrusion into the final frontier of his privacy. Duncan's little man was actually larger than she expected it to be (did she really hate him so much as to automatically assign him a woefully inadequte penis?). It was also surprisingly thick and would probably be sufficient in triggering earth-shattering orgasms if she could ever overcome her aversion to the man attached to it.

Britta had seen uncut dicks before in Amsterdam, so she wasn't shocked to see that Duncan's was also intact (duh doy, he was British!). But his was darker, especially considering his otherwise pasty complexion, and intrigued a curiosity that she never thought she had. And his balls – oh man – they were bouncy and didn't sag like other old farts his age. _Good god, am I actually thinking about Professor Duncan's balls? And is he even old enough to have saggy nuts?_

Her thoughts began drifting toward what Ian could do with that impressive appendage. _Does he even know how to use the fucking thing?_ she wondered conflictedly. _What if he does? Holy shit would that be incredible!_

“Britta, wait!” she heard as she felt a clammy hand gently wrap around her arm. She spun around to face Duncan, who still had those shocked eyes (though they were now partially obscured behind foggy glasses).

“Professor Duncan!” she exclaimed. “I am so, so sorry! I didn't know the door was unlocked.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” Ian replied. “I haven't had a roommate since granddad. I've gotten so used to not having to worry about someone accidentally seeing me at my worst.”

Britta smiled at the damp Duncan. His hair clung to his head and his bangs brushed his eyelids. Little drops of water occasionally fell from the darkened strands and streaked down the obtrusive splint on his face. He was pathetically charming in that state but still kind of terrible (kinda).

Maybe he wasn't always that way. Maybe there was a fuck buddy standing in front of her, or at least a reliable friend; either way, he had potential. She suspected all his hangups were borne from his chronic loneliness; hell, she was lonely a lot too. Misery loves company, and they might be miserable together (however extensive “together” might be was still up for debate). _Fuck it,_  she said to herself. _Let's make some friends_.

“I wouldn't say that's your worst,” she said with a shrug. “In fact, I kinda enjoyed the show.”

Duncan adjusted his glasses, all the while keeping the towel in place with his other hand. “You did?” he asked with a tone of suspicion.

“Mmm hmm,” she replied, slowly approaching him and eyeing the location of the towel. “In fact, I think I'd like to see it again.”

Ian gulped. _This can't be a dream, can it? I barely know her! But that didn't stop me from fucking complete strangers before, has it?_

Without saying a word, he led her to the privacy of his bedroom. Britta's heart was racing as Duncan shut the door behind them. She could feel a quick pulse in the hand that was still on her arm. _He's just as nervous as I am_.

“Don't be afraid,” she whispered heavily. “I don't want to hurt you.”

Ian ducked his head and sighed. “I know,” he said softly. “It's just... it's been so bloody long since I've done anything like this. I may be a little rusty.”

“I understand,” she replied, cautiously resting a hand on his bare shoulder. “It's okay.”

“I want to see you if you're going to see me,” he said simply. “It's only fair.”

Britta nodded, then fumbled with her top before pulling it over her head. Ian's breath hitched at the sight of a black lacy bra emerging from beneath the skimpy fabric. She blushed when she caught his reaction. He reminded her of a nervous virgin on prom night. It was kinda cute. Then she slipped off her shorts, and Ian thought he was going to come undone. Britta was wearing matching black lacy panties that were barely there, even for her petite figure. Blood shot through his veins and directly into his crotch.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathed. “I want to take those off you myself.”

“You can do that if you take off the towel first,” she said, pointing to the object in question. “Show me what you got...again.”

Duncan nodded. “Okay,” he replied, then nervously ran his thumb along the fabric wrapped around his waist. He had a brief lapse in sanity and feared that somehow his chap would be insufficient for her needs. For fuck's sake, she slept with Jeff, who was a modern day Adonis with what he assumed was the perfect prick. But she wouldn't be asking him to drop towel if she didn't think he had potential in the sack.

_Rip that bandaid off_ , he told himself. _She's already seen... it. She knows what you're made of._

Then he finally allowed the towel to fall to his feet. Britta smiled at the sight of her old-new friend. It was just as magnificent as she remembered it, only this time it was swelling in excitement. She didn't think it could get much bigger but knew he wasn't entirely hard yet.

“It's very nice, Professor,” she remarked while she studied the rest of his body. “Fuck, it's fantastic.”

She always loved a little body hair on her men, and Duncan had just enough to be endearing (he may also have been doing some man-scaping, which wasn't a bad thing). Britta took particular notice to his chest and hoped of running her hands through THAT rug very soon, maybe even pinching those darkened nipples that peeked through.

Her attentions turned to Ian's muscular legs, which she suspected could allow for some exotic sexual positions. Was he athletic, or at least did some physical activity several days out of the week? All signs pointed to yes; that would explain the absence of a beer belly and the hint of a six pack (he was no Jeff but he was no Pierce either).

When she motioned for him to turn around, Ian complied. Britta needed to make sure that ass wouldn't quit. It didn't. It was firm but not too bubbly and not too flat. An acceptable ass, indeed.

Duncan spun back around to face her. “W-what do you think?” he asked nervously.

Britta looked into his eyes, entirely determined. “You have a beautiful body. I think I want you to fuck me, Professor Duncan.”

His blood froze in his veins and his cock twitched at the idea. However, he was beginning to feel a little conflicted. “I'm... your teacher.”

“Take my panties off, Professor Duncan. I won't tell if you won't.”

He stepped forward, then cautiously placed his hands on her waist. When she didn't object he responded: “I can do that. I can do whatever you bloody want me to.”

Britta grabbed his arms and began to guide him to the bed. Ian took over and helped lay her down on the mattress, then hovered over her and looked into her eyes. She stared back, getting lost in the warmth his eyes radiated past the bruises on his face. The Duncan redolence seized any common sense she had left, and she willed herself to submit to this forbidden encounter ( _Slater was fucking Jeff, so maybe it's not so forbidden at Greendale_ , she noted).

Duncan moved his body down hers before his head was just over her midsection. Britta inhaled deeply in anticipation. _How can this be so fucking hot?_ She wondered.

He looked up into her face – eyes burning lustfully - before he leaned down and took the waistband of her panties with his teeth. Britta was becoming aroused at the sight, even if his teeth reinforced some stereotypes about the British she didn't want to entertain (her empathy for others, and all).

He lingered above her for an agonizingly long time before, in a swift motion, the panties were tugged down to right above her knees. Then Ian rose up and straddled both sides of her. His cock – which by that point was fully erect - bobbed up and down as if it saluted the cunt it was about to figuratively demolish. Any fears of diminished performance seemed to have vanished on his end; his confidence rose with his member.

Duncan exhaled a long and deep breath as he studied this new aspect of Britta. “God damn,” he muttered. He didn't expect a woman like her to support activities such as Brazilian waxes, but it was a little surprising to see that she wasn't entirely natural either (she did a little trimming down there, maybe for hygiene, he hypothesized). Her pubes weren't as dark as other women he'd fucked before, and that intrigued him, too, what with the “carpet matching the drapes” expectation and all.

Britta bit her bottom lip seductively. Ian studied the action with piqued interest. She seemed to be enjoying the attention he was giving her. Maybe the men she was attracted to wasn't as devoted to her needs as he thought he could be.

_Don't fucking go there_ , he warned himself. _She just wants to shag. Give her what she wants and move on_.

He found himself instinctively shifting his body when he noticed that she rose up to take off her bra. She deftly unhooked the back and unceremoniously slipped the garment from her chest. Ian said nothing as her pert tits bounced in greeting for the first time. It didn't escape his notice that her nipples were hard; she was certainly aroused.

He struggled to find something – anything - to say to her. All common sense mingled with his blood and drained from the rest of his body and straight to his wang. He feared he would come undone if she dared touch him, and didn't press that issue further.

Britta also knew that any conversation at this point would needlessly complicate things. “I want you in me right now,” she ordered, forgoing any other possibility.

So that was that, then. No foreplay or kissing, no expectations of any other form of intimacy. She just wanted to fuck. That was okay for him... for now.

Ian motioned to the nightstand next to her. “Condoms are in there,” he replied. Britta reached into the drawer and fished out a foil packet. She did him the favor of getting the thing open and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. _Maybe it's better that we just shag_ , he said to himself as he rolled the condom over his throbbing shaft.

Britta leaned back into the mattress as Ian took off his glasses and reached over to set them on the nightstand. As he hovered over her, she studied the fact that he looked entirely different without them. His eyes weren't as large as they normally appeared; in fact, they looked a little calmer, more like a cup of tea on an early empty Saturday morning. But she knew she shouldn't focus on that (she might develop deeper feelings for this man, after all, and she was still fiercely independent and didn't need him), so she began to study the muscles she noticed earlier; they twitched and shifted as he settled his crotch just over hers.

“Do you still want to do this?” he asked her. He slowly ran his hand up and down his cock as he awaited an answer, though that was hardly necessary: he was just as hard as he had been before.

She nodded. “Okay then,” he said as he lowered his body to her level.

Britta took in a deep breath, attempting to dismiss her accelerating heartbeat. This all felt strange yet exhiliarating. She had never fucked one of her teachers before, though she was close when she was in high school.

Ian grasped his cock, then teased her by running its swollen head along her slit, equally distributing the warm wetness that this experience elicited from her. He stared down at her cunt. “Your beaver's pretty eager, I'd say,” he noted almost absentmindedly.

She almost didn't register how fucking lame that sentence would have been in normal conversation. None of this was normal. Ian Duncan – whom she had nothing to do with just a month ago - was about to plow her, for chrissakes, and she didn't seem to mind.

Duncan knew then that he had to shut up or he'd kill the mood, so he positioned his cock at her opening.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, closing her eyes and clenching her fists in anticipation. Then he slowly slid himself into her and seemed to fill every square inch that she had.

Britta moaned lustfully. “Oh goddamn,” was all she could muster as he pushed deeper into her, right up to the hilt. She felt her toes curl up so tightly that they touched the pads of her feet.

Ian's eyes slammed shut as he was assaulted with competing and overwhelming sensations. Jesus fuck, she was tight, and she was wet, and she was almost too much for him to handle. But he continued steadily sliding in and out of her with the single goal of making her come.

“Faster,” he heard her say to him after a few minutes (after all, she needed to get used to that massive cock inside of her). His eyes remained shut, so he didn't know if she was looking at him or not. He couldn't focus on the “what ifs” when he was shagging a woman who had captivated him for so long. This all still seemed like it wasn't happening, and felt just as real as his occasional dreams of fucking Mariah on the study room table. And he certainly wasn't about to analyze what THAT all meant.

_Get back in the sodding game!_ he said to himself as he quickened his thrusts, trying to get any breaths into his body (after all, his nose was broken and normal breathing was already difficult). He mentally patted himself on the back when he heard Britta moan in approval. _Good lad_.

“Oh fuck, Duncan,” Britta said. She unclenched her hands and dug her fingernails into his back. Ian buried his face into her shoulder as he continued to plunge himself into her, and tried to stay focused amid the sensory overload.

Britta exhaled deeply when she felt his hot breath on her bare skin. _Oh fuck, he's good. I was wrong about him... so very very wrong_.

“Agh,” Ian muttered, struggling to keep himself from unraveling too quickly. His breath quickened along with his thrusts, and he felt as though he would suffocate.

“Oh god, keep going,” Britta sighed. “I'm close.”

Duncan kept pace and remained focused on taking care of her needs first. Britta failed to notice that drops of sweat began falling from his face and on to her shoulder. At her best estimate, they had fucked for about 15 minutes without stopping.

“Keep going,” she encouraged him, fully aware that he could soon lose steam. “Fuck, keep going.”

Ian whipped his head up and finally opened his eyes, where they were greeted with Britta's. He stopped breathing and the world seemed to stop turning at that moment. The look she gave him was genuinely caring; any hate she had for him did not shine through. She trusted him to guide her through to ecstasy. As if on cue, they smiled at each other. Then Ian neglected any advice his inner voice gave him earlier, and he leaned in to kiss her.

But that move was ill-timed. He felt Britta's cunt squeeze tightly around him. She was coming.

“OH FUCK!” she screamed after tilting her head back into the pillow. “OH GODDAMNIT! FUCK, IAN!”

Then he felt his balls tense up and the sensation of a cannonball plummeting to the depths of his stomach. His eyelids clenched shut, and several pulses raced through his prick before stars exploded behind his eyes.

“Ahhh!” Several quick orgasms rocked his sweating and heaving body and the familiar sensation of thick hot cum coating the inside of the condom and all over his dick entered his consciousness. Duncan feared he would collapse on top of Britta, so he yanked himself out of her and fell over to her side, utterly breathless.

“Oh, shit,” he moaned as he covered his face with his hands, struggling to get any fresh oxygen into his lungs. That was easily one of the best shags he'd ever had. The exploding stars simmered in his head, blinding him in his retreat.

Britta studied Ian as his breathing slowly returned to broken-nose-normal, and when he was oblivious to the fact that she was staring. He was more human to her then than she'd ever thought he'd be. He wasn't exempt from feeling things: this encounter humbled him, and he didn't say anything hokey as was wont for his public figure. He just allowed the wave of his orgasm to wash over him, then carry him away into more tranquil waters.

He was beautiful to her in the quiet of their refractory period, and Britta resolved then and there that she wanted to help him find that beauty himself. He wasn't awful when he was around someone he knew didn't have it in them to hurt him. But he retreated into alcohol and self-loathing whenever someone did. That saddened her. She knew that deep down, Ian Duncan wanted to do good in this fucked-up world. That's probably why he became a psychologist. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way something went horribly awry and he strayed far from the path. She would help him find his way back no matter what anyone in the study group thought about it.

Ian eventually took the condom off and wiped the cum off his dick, and he and Britta slipped under the sheets, where they lay in contemplation, careful not to touch one another.

He turned his head to look at her, and marveled at her tossled hair, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. She was perfect. But he had to stop thinking too much about it or he knew he'd sink into melancholy at the thought that he could never have her on a deeper level. After a few moments of silence he pulled a blanket over his chest self-consciously and addressed her.

“Do you regret doing that?” he asked.

Britta turned her head to look at him. “No way,” she said with a smile.

“But I'm your teacher, and you've not been shy about telling me how horrible I am. I can't figure out why you'd ever want to do me.”

She smiled at him. “I may have had distorted views about you before. But I've come to find out you're not so bad, after all!”

Duncan's eyebrows raised at that last sentence. “Better at some things than others, I presume?”

“Hell yeah. That dick is fantastic.”

Ian ducked his head and would have blushed if not for the bruises. “Would you want to shag again?”

Britta pondered the question for a few seconds. “Yeah, I'd like that. But I think we need to set some boundaries before we do this again.”

Duncan turned his body to face hers and propped up his head with one of his arms. “That's fair. What were you thinking?”

Her face curved downward to a more neutral expression. “I don't want you to kiss me for now.”

His heart sunk. “Okay.”

Britta slipped a hand under the sheet and placed it on his chest, lightly brushing the hair there. She would have to play with his nipples another time.

“Look, I know that sucks, and I mean it when I say I don't want to hurt you. But I can't predict the future and I can't predict what's gonna happen here. If I let you kiss me that sets us both up for all kinds of complications. If this thing ends up crashing and burning I don't want us to get hurt. I know how that feels, and it doesn't feel good.”

Ian raised up a hand. “Fair enough. You raise good concerns.”

Britta continued brushing his chest hair with her hand. “You get to set a boundary, now. I'm not that selfish.”

Duncan stared at her hand. “You can't call me Professor Duncan, or Duncan, in...the bed. You can only call me Ian, or Mr. Big, or some other non-professional sexual sobriquet.”

Britta giggled. If Ian had any blood left in his body, he probably would have gotten hard again. But he could only just look at her with some longing that might never leave him.

“I will get a list of names going. But no Professor Duncan, at least in the bed. If I call you Mr. Big at Greendale, people might get suspicious.”

Ian nodded. “This is true. Outside of this house you may call me Professor Duncan, or Arsehole, or whatever keeps people from getting suspicious. So are we fuck buddies, then?”

The head pounding once again returned to Britta's consciousness. “I would say so,” she replied with another smile. “You still hungover?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm gonna get some coffee. You wanna come with?”

Ian nodded. “That'll be good,” he said as he stepped out of the bed and began to look for some clothes.

Britta couldn't help but stare at his limp cock bobbing around as he moved about his bedroom. Even in its flaccid state she still loved the way it looked and moved. He finally found some sweatpants to slip on, but he didn't bother to locate a t-shirt. The pants-only Duncan look worked for Britta.

He picked up her tank top and shorts and handed them to her. “Thanks,” she said as she put them on. “I hope I'm not being too vulgar, but I almost pissed on you while we were fucking. I really have to pee.”

Ian chuckled at the mental image that played in his head. “Please, do pee. But grab the aspirin out of the cabinet for your sake, and the painkillers for mine.”

“Deal,” Britta said.

After she saw a woman about the female equivalent of a horse, she joined Ian in the kitchen for some much-needed caffeine therapy.

\---

_“Keep feeling fascination_

_Passion burning_

_Love so strong_

_Keep feeling fascination_

_Looking, learning_

_Moving on”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet chapter. Many more to come!

_Britta found herself laying down on the delightfully eccentric patterned couch in Professor Duncan's office, mentally tracing the various floral designs on the fabric. She remembered thinking it was the only cool thing in that loser's office._

_She had been in this moment before. She was recalling one of her therapy sessions from last year. She glanced over and noted Past Duncan was rifling through his file cabinet; he was looking for a blank notepad to take notes during this session._

_This was their first meeting, just days after she was found guilty of making a crib sheet for Señor Chang's class. As she studied his back, Britta realized that the version of her self that was forever frozen in that moment wouldn't have bothered to notice much about his physical features, for she still held a deep hatred for Professor Duncan back then and found the mere sight of him enough to make her blood seethe over. In fact, Past Britta was still furious at her teacher for sentencing her to weekly therapy sessions with him. Therefore, Past Duncan in this memory was just a little more than hazy. "_

_Okay," she heard him say with a hint of a sigh. The tone of his voice at that moment expressed some hope that he could ease the tension between them; perhaps he realized she was pissed for hijacking the disciplinary tribunal. Past Duncan cautiously sat down at the chair adjacent to the couch and reached over to grab a pen from his desk. "Where shall we begin?"_

_Past Britta looked over at him with disgust. "Ugh, who cares!" she replied as she crossed her arms. At the time she didn't notice that Past Duncan briefly wore a look of hurt on his face as he grimaced at her statement._

_"Well then," he said curtly, trying to recover from it. He was uncharacteristically bereft of a snarky comeback. "How about if we start with the road that got you here, hmm? From what I understand, you were an anarchist in your early years? Are there any regrettable moments there? Perhaps from being tear gassed at a rally? Maybe there was a handsome social justice warrior who left deep wounds in your fragile psyche?"_

_"Hmph," was all Britta would allow him to have. She refused to look at him, and could only hear the frantic scratching of pen on paper._

_"We'll table that part of your life for later," Past Duncan noted as he capped the pen and crossed one leg over the other._

_Past Britta rolled her eyes and continued looking at the clown sketches on the wall ahead of her. "What's up with all the clowns?" she asked, assuming he was some sort of deranged freak with latent homicidal tendencies._

_Past Duncan shook his head. "We're not talking about me right now," he said, a hint of annoyance coming across his voice. He leaned forward in his chair and then addressed her in a more urgent tone. "In case you forgot, we are here because you were almost expelled for cheating. Greendale may be shit, but we take this sort of thing very seriously. So you should take this seriously too so you don't fuck up your life any further."_

_Past Britta shot up from her prone position. "Say what?" she said threateningly. "Who do you think you are, assuming you know me like that. What gives you the right to talk to me that way?"_

_Past Duncan twirled the pen around in his fingers and said nothing, as if he was challenging her to open up to him more._

_"Is that all you're gonna do?" she asked as she threw her hands up frustratingly. "What kind of therapist are you? Or are you too drunk to answer that right now?"_

_He stopped twirling the pen and just held it in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he continued to just stare at her. Britta remembered the fury that brewed within her as he refused to say anything to her during that awkward exchange._

_"You know what, I don't have time for this shit," she said as she got up and stormed out of his office. As she turned to slam the door behind her, Past Britta noticed that Past Duncan was making notes in his notepad, wearing no expression on his face._

Britta slowly returned to the present. They had moved from post-coital caffeine therapy in the kitchen to some sort of silent therapy in Duncan's living room. At least, no one was talking at that moment.

A new sense of shame flooded her mind, and she felt genuinely terrible for talking to Ian like that, especially given all the recent developments in their relationship ( _Is friendship a more appropriate word?_ she wondered to herself). She had changed so much since that first therapy session and was encouraged by the fact that she was learning not to be so mean to him.

She looked up from the clenched fists in her lap and saw that Duncan was staring at her from his favorite recliner. He seemed to have been studying her actions for quite some time as he sipped from his wine glass, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was only around 11 am.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked her. His mood seemed subdued considering they had just finished smoking a bowl. Perhaps the wine balanced things out, or maybe it was a little Hair of the Dog.

"I was remembering our first therapy session from the fall," she said to him.

Ian swirled the wine around in his glass. "And?"

"And... I acted like a little brat," Britta admitted humbly. "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you. That was totally out of line and disrespectful. I know now you were only trying to help."

Duncan nodded as he simply listened. "I'll have to refer to my notes to remember what all you said to me, but regardless... you are forgiven."

"Thanks, Duncan," she replied as she got up from the sofa. "I've got to feed my cats soon, then head to work. Can I stay over after work? It'll be late."

Ian followed suit and rose from his recliner. "Certainly. I might be asleep or blacked out from drinking, so I'll make a copy of the key and leave it under the doormat. It's yours to keep. You can come here anytime you need to. You're safe here."

Britta then did something he didn't anticipate: she walked over and hugged him. She smiled as she heard a shaky sigh leave his mouth. He was certainly overcome by the gesture. "Thank you," she whispered in his ear before she pulled away from him and walked toward the guest room to change her clothes.

Duncan stood where they embraced for a few minutes longer, daring not to move over fears that he would be tempted to follow her for a second round of fucking. _Not yet_ , he told himself. _Don't want her to think you're some sort of pervert or sex addict._ So, he let his breathing return to broken nose normal and waited for his heart to stop racing before settling back in his recliner to finish his first glass of wine that day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter includes references to self-harm.

_A familiar feeling crept over Britta. She looked around and realized she was sitting in Duncan's favorite recliner. Still, something didn't feel right._

 

_She looked around and noticed she was alone in his living room. "Professor Duncan?" she called aloud. Nothing._

_She got up from the recliner and walked into the kitchen, hoping he'd be making coffee or sitting at the table, reading his academic journals. Empty._

_Then she walked back toward the bathroom and began to hear water crashing down against water. Shit._

_Britta ran the rest of the distance to the bathroom and flung open the door. Ian was laying in the bathtub, the shower raining down upon his head, not turning to look at her standing in the doorway. He had slit his wrists and blood slowly seeped from the wounds, mixing and pooling around his body. In that dream he was wearing only boxer shorts, which were becoming stained by the watered-down blood._

_"Seriously?" she screamed. "I can't freaking believe this. YOU PROMISED!"_

_Duncan turned his face to look up at her. His eyes were red from crying. He sniffled before he addressed her. "I'm sorry, Britta."_

_She clenched her fists and glared at him. "How could you do this to me?"_

_Ian turned his head back to look straight ahead at the tile in the shower, and slowly closed his eyes. He was giving up..._

Britta shot up in bed, then looked around to check her surroundings. She had  _that_  dream again. It wasn't real, but it certainly felt like it. 

 

She got out of the bed in the guest room and walked over to draw back the curtains on the window. Dawn had yet to break. She had only been asleep for a few hours, and she could feel it in her body. But she was afraid to go back to sleep, so she slipped on some pajama pants and a tank top, and peeked out into the rest of the house. Only a small hall light provided any illumination at that hour, so Britta assumed Professor Duncan was still asleep. She walked out into the hallway and toward the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise.

 

Once she was in the kitchen Britta was on a mission to self-caffeinate. She quickly found some tea in the pantry, then filled up the teapot with water.

 

As she waited for the water to boil, her thoughts turned back toward the dream. Britta found it curious that it happened again, even if it was slightly different from the first one. Lately, she noticed that she began to think about Duncan more, and not so much in a negative light. His hospitality and kindness toward her  _was_ genuine and admittedly too generous for her. She also knew that he didn't have very many friends, so perhaps this was his chance to establish a much-needed connection with another human being. It must have been serendipitous for him that he also adored the very person he was trying to befriend.

 

Shit, he was her friend now! That much was true. 

 

She didn't notice Ian had appeared in the kitchen, and had leaned his body against the refrigerator. "Did you have that dream again?" he asked, startling her from her thoughts.

 

Britta couldn't help but gasp. "Professor Duncan," she replied in a guilty tone. She studied his form: he was wearing sky blue cotton pajama pants and a thin white t-shirt. His hair was disheveled but he had clearly made an attempt to comb it out with his fingers before he walked into the kitchen. He also hadn't shaved, and she marveled at the dark stubble that was uncharacteristic of his appearance (much like his nose splint). His arms were crossed over his chest, and Britta made note of the long dark hairs that crisscrossed them.

 

"Did you?" he asked. 

 

Britta nodded. "I don't know why," she added. 

 

Ian continued to stand there, propped up against the refrigerator. "I'm sorry to hear that," he offered. "I can only imagine that's a jarring thing to wake up to."

 

"Yeah," she whispered, looking down at the teapot.

 

He then walked over to where she stood. "Making tea?" he asked. "I'll have a cup. What do you take with yours?"

 

Britta looked up at him. "Honey."

 

"I know you are but what am I?" he said playfully.

 

She lightly slapped his arm. "Dumbass," she muttered with a giggle. 

 

Ian grinned then opened a nearby cabinet to grab a jar of honey. "Honey actually sounds pretty good with tea," he said as he studied the container. "I think I'll try it."

 

The teapot whistled, commanding their attention. Duncan grabbed two teacups from the cupboard, then placed tea bags in each cup. "Let's go drink these out on the patio," he suggested. "Watch the sun rise."

 

\---

 

Silence settled between the two as they enjoyed the night sky surrendering to the deep purples of the rapidly approaching dawn. It was cool for a June morning, but not enough to warrant long sleeves.

 

Britta felt her worries over the dream fade away as the sun began the slow creep upward. Maybe that's why Duncan suggested they go outside. Sneaky, yet effective, therapy.

 

Her companion looked out into the distance and appeared to be deep in thought. So she turned her attention toward the sunrise, careful not to break his concentration.

 

"I've been thinking," Duncan finally said after a few minutes of silence.  _That's obvious_ , Britta said to herself. 

 

"Maybe you should stay in your own apartment for a few days," he continued without looking at her. "Perhaps you still subconsciously have some negative opinions about me, and these dreams are your attempt to reconcile your newfound change of heart."

 

Britta looked at him once again. The bruises on his face were beginning to turn yellow around the edges, an encouraging sign of his recovery. "Interesting theory," she noted.

 

Ian nodded. "Think of it this way: just a few weeks ago you cursed my very existence. Now, you tolerate me. I can sense conflict in you. Outwardly, you want to be my friend, but deep down you still don't know how you feel about that."

 

"If it helps, I don't hate you anymore," Britta replied. "In fact, I was just thinking about how we've really become friends since I saved your ass at the Tranny Dance."

 

"Frenemies, then?" Duncan countered before taking a sip of his tea.

 

Britta smiled at him. "I wouldn't go that far," she said. "I've learned a lot about you since the semester ended. I really would call you my friend in front of others."

 

Ian finally looked at her as he arched one of his eyebrows. "Even in front of your study group?"

 

"Sure," she replied nonchalantly. "They don't know you like I do."

 

Duncan set down his teacup. "You don't know the half of it," he added. "You've only begun to scratch the surface that is me."

 

"I'm intrigued."

 

"Don't be," he warned. "Life has not been good to me."

 

Britta hoped to return the conversation to something a little happier. "It's never too late to turn things around."

 

Ian smiled cautiously. "This is true," he said as he raised up his teacup. "If what you've told me is true, I've gained a new friend. That's something to toast."

 

She also raised her teacup and clinked it against his. "See? Looking up already!"

 

"Cheers," he said before taking another sip of his tea. 

 

"Cheers," she said, then took a sip of her own.

 

Duncan once again set down his teacup, then folded his hands over his lap. "Are you okay with spending a few days away from here? Maybe reconnect with the kitties?"

 

Britta laughed heartily, and Ian's heart soared. "You're implying my relationship with my cats was once good. They've always ignored me! But if you think that will help with this dream situation, then I'm all for it."

 

He nodded. "Can't guarantee anything, but it can't hurt."

 

"But what if I get... lonely, if you get my drift?"

 

Ian shot her a sinister grin. "Absence makes the heart - and your loins - grow fonder."

 

"I'm gonna rethink this friend designation if you're gonna be a tease," Britta threatened before taking another sip of her tea.

 

The sun was beginning to peek over the trees in the neighborhood, and Duncan turned his attention again to the beauty unfolding before them. She studied him for a moment before she too turned her head to take in the sights.

 

"If you have any sort of psychological emergency, you know you can always come to talk to me," Ian continued. "You have a key now. Don't be afraid to use it."

 

Britta chuckled. "Whatever am I gonna do without your heroic dick for two or three days?"

 

"Why assume that's why I gave you a key? I'm not so shallow. And, we can always shag before you head off to work tonight. Build up your reserves."

 

"I am gonna wreck you, Duncan."

 

\---

 

Ian collapsed back into his bed, gasping for breath. He closed his eyes and struggled to move past the galaxy of stars that blinded him in the seconds that followed his universe-collapsing orgasm. 

 

"F-fuck," he moaned. He didn't see Britta emerge from between his legs, licking her lips of any cum that she didn't swallow. She moved her head up to where his lay on the pillow and rested it close to his. 

 

Duncan opened his eyes at the sinking sensation an extra body afforded (not a sensation he experienced lately), and he looked over at her. "Jesus wept," he sighed. "That was... I can't even..."

 

Britta grinned as she stared up at the ceiling. "I am pretty good, aren't I?"

 

Ian forgot about the no kissing rule she imposed, then leaned over and landed one on her cheek. Britta whipped her head to look at him, her eyes widened in surprise.

 

"What was that?" she said. 

 

His heart dropped in his chest. "I forgot," he admitted. 

 

Britta frowned because she didn't know how she really felt about that kiss. It was tender and bereft of any further expectations. It completely exceeded anything she expected from a man who couldn't hide his feelings for her if he tried. 

 

"W-well, don't do it again!" she replied before she looked back up at the ceiling.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days passed by without consequence. Ian was a little disappointed that Britta didn't need him as much as he thought she would. But, it seemed as though she didn't have any nightmares during that time. No news is good news, at least that's what he told himself.

Britta did miss having someone to talk to (and smoke with) outside of work. Several members of the study group tried to call her, but she wasn't quite ready to return their calls because she was sure she knew what they were calling for. They were all at the Tranny Dance when she mistakenly told Jeff that she loved him. But no one knew about her recent dalliances with Professor Duncan... apart from Professor Duncan, of course.

 _No one would understand anyway_ , she convinced herself. _Least of all Jeff_.

She still struggled to understand why she did what she did with Duncan. But she had no regrets, especially since it afforded her a glimpse into his true self. No one else would bother to look past his brash behavior in public, or forgive his penchant for copious amounts of booze (even in the classroom). No one else would notice his selfless actions for the people he trusted.

Except for her. He trusted her. And that was special.

It was Friday night, and Britta was working the closing shift at the diner. Business was slow that night, so she was able to get a few chores out of the way so she wouldn't have to stay out too late.

The tinkle of the bells on the front door wasn't enough to rouse her from what she was doing, neither was the sound of a body settling into a stool at the counter. The stranger didn't try to get her attention right away, so she just assumed they weren't in a hurry to be served.

Once she put away the last clean glass, she looked up then jumped back when she saw Ian sitting there, smiling at her. His hands were folded in a pyramid over the menu that lay before him. He wasn't interested in food that night, it seemed.

"Professor Duncan, hi," she said with a smile, trying to keep her professional demeanor about her. "What can I get you?"

"Nothing that you serve here," he replied with a grin. "I'm assuming you haven't had any more nightmares?"

Britta wiped her hands with a clean rag that she set aside for just that purpose. "No, thankfully. But I have... missed hanging out with you."

"Same," Duncan said in a low voice. "It's been quiet at the house. Too quiet. That gets to me sometimes."

"Yeah, my cats aren't good company. They're only interested in me when I have food for them."

Ian smiled at her. "That's too bad. They're missing out on getting to know a genuinely good person."

"I'm not good," she said as she set down the rag. "I was terrible to you last year! Don't you remember that?"

"All in the past," he said while shrugging his shoulders. "You've changed. I can tell."

Britta rested a hand on her hip. "Well, you're my friend now. I changed once I found out you're not the dreadful person you project in public. But I am curious as to why you act that way. Everyone would _love_ you if they met the real you!"

Ian's eyebrow arched at the mention of the word "love". "I don't know why I do it," he admitted. "My therapist thinks I drink excessively to compensate for my anxiety and depression. I think he's dead-on."

She tilted her head as she listened to his admission. "You're sober right now, aren't you!"

Duncan grinned sheepishly. "Not entirely. I had a glass of wine before I came here."

Britta's eyes widened. "Color me surprised," she replied sarcastically. "I would have thought you'd be passed out in your chair by now!"

Ian unfolded his hands, then clenched them nervously. "I am working on it," he said. "It's not a healthy life path, as you may very well be aware."

In an attempt to calm him down, Britta reached over and placed a hand over his. Duncan could only stare at what was going on in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat and he said nothing.

"It's not an overnight fix," she whispered. "This is going to take some time. And you're not going to go through this alone. Count on that. I have a key to your place, now. Won't be so easy to get rid of me."

Ian looked back up into her face and smiled a sad smile. "I wouldn't have it any other way!"

Britta then pulled away and absentmindedly picked up the rag again, twisting it around in her hands. "So, what's this thing you want that you can't get here?"

"I think you know what I want."

She folded her arms over her chest because she knew he liked it when she did that. "I don't think I do," she replied teasingly.

Ian tapped his fingers on the plastic-covered menu in mock impatience. "I want to ravage you, tonight," he said bluntly. "I'm going to thrust so hard inside of you it'll make your toes curl inward thrice over. I want to hear you curse my name and scream other obscenities whilst you dig your nails into my back and surrender to the earth-shattering orgasm you'll inevitably have."

Britta leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter then her head in her hands. "Is that so?" she asked. The tone of her voice became more sultry.

Duncan nodded. "You're coming over tonight, yeah?"

She leaned forward some more so that her nose was nearly touching his. "You better believe it," she said before quickly kissing the spot where the splint covered the tip of his nose. "I have to get back to work now. I'll be over soon."

Ian's cock lept in his pants once she pulled away and winked at him before returning to her chores. He knew he had to make a quick exit before he lost control and had his way with her right there on the diner counter, plastic menus be damned.

\---

Britta decided to swing by her apartment and take a shower, then dress into the skimpiest lingerie that her ethics would allow her to possess.

She stood in front of her bedroom mirror to look at the present she was about to have Professor Duncan unwrap. The bra and matching panties were red, blood red at that. The satin fabric was so tight it looked as though it was painted on her petite frame. The hipster panties barely covered her ass (which was, of course, the look she was going for).

"You'd better not be wearing fucking tighty whities, Duncan," she said as she continued to stare at herself in the mirror.

He... wasn't.

She gently unlocked the front door once she got to Duncan's house, then slipped in. She looked around and saw that most of the lights were out and that only a small glow from a desk lamp in the living room provided illumination for her steps.

Then she saw Ian. He was sitting in his favorite recliner, one leg crossed over the other, clad in silken black pajama pants. They were complemented by a silk crimson smoking jacket that he neglected to close over his torso. Britta spotted the black chest hair that streaked across his chest and she inhaled deeply.

"Holy shit," she said under her breath. Ian Duncan had definitely tapped into his sensual side, and it was working for her... BIG TIME. He didn't respond, but merely swirled a bit of brandy around in a snifter and burned deep holes into her soul with the fire in his eyes.

Britta slowly made her way into the living room, never diverting her gaze from his form. He could definitely press all of her buttons when he was dripping with sex. "Trying out a new look?" she asked.

"I thought I'd whore out my gender," he said while continuing to swirl the snifter about. "How am I doing?"

Britta snickered. "Piss poor." Her lying skills were horrible and Duncan wasn't buying it. He set the snifter down then stood up and allowed the jacket to slip from his shoulders, revealing his bare torso. The lamp provided just enough light for her to study it. She hadn't noticed before that Ian had a small outie belly button in the midst of a dark happy trail! She was even more surprised how much that turned her on, even though she wasn't about to let him know that.

She gestured toward the brandy that was now neglected on the side table. "Are you going to drink any of that?"

Ian shook his head as he began to slowly walk toward her. He couldn't help but notice she had developed elevator eyes on his form. "Why are you still wearing clothes?" he said gently.

Britta crossed her arms over her chest again, which elicited a small grin on his face. So he decided to test the waters and grazed his fingers along her elbow. He was relieved that she didn't flinch or swat at him. In fact, the pupils of her eyes widened at the sensation of his skin upon hers. He knew she was getting aroused, and he was getting hard just thinking about it.

Duncan stepped closer to her and moved his hand up to lightly grasp the skin right above her elbow. Britta gasped again, completely seized by this unexpected gesture. She stared into his face; his full attention was on her.

"Why are _you_ still wearing clothes?" she whispered back. "Take off those pants."

Ian held up a finger and wagged it. "Not until you take something off."

Britta grinned at him as she teasingly slipped her fingers under the waistband of her jeans and pulled them down until he caught a peek at blood-red satin. "That's more like it," he said.

He didn't expect what she did next. Britta eliminated any distance her body had from his, and slipped a hand down the front of his pants.

"Oh fuck," he muttered as she rested that hand over his crotch. She didn't stroke or jerk him, but let the skin of her hand process the fabric that it found.

"Good god, Duncan, are you wearing silk skivvies?"

Ian regained control of himself and avoided surrendering his body to hers... for now. "Why don't you do a little more investigating to confirm."

Britta then moved her hand around to grab his pants, and deftly pulled them to his ankles. She stepped back and surveyed those boxers as he got out of the pants and kicked them to the side. Black silk greeted her eyes and highlighted the swelling cock that lay beneath.

Duncan pointed at her midsection. "Your turn," he said simply. "Let me see those panties."

"You're gonna have to put in a little more work than that. Think of it as a present you have to unwrap."

"Merry Christmas to me!" he said loudly.

With an almost suspicious level of skill, and with no wasted time, Ian popped the button from the buttonhole, then unzipped and pulled down her jeans. He then got to his knees to survey the satiny surprise.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for the type to have something like _this_ lying around," he said as he touched the fabric.

Britta grasped Duncan's head with her hands and ran them through his hair, then down to his cheeks. She wanted to remember what he felt like. "Isn't it a nice surprise?"

Ian looked up at her. "Indeed, though I still think your principles are a little sexier."

Britta moved her hands to behind his neck and laced her fingers together. "You're not like the other men I've fucked. You should feel special that you're not some perpetually horny douche like Jeff."

"I'm plenty horny right now, believe me!"

"That's different. I'm purposely turning you on."

"Would you be averse to me getting even hornier? I'd love to see if the bra matches the panties."

Britta quickly pulled off her top, and Ian gasped. "Jesus fuck," he breathed. "You are something else."

She responded by motioning for him to stand up. "I want to taste you," she said.

Duncan grinned then pulled his boxers down to his feet and stepped out of them. Britta noted that he was still only half-hard as she got to her knees. She heard a gasp as she slid the foreskin back to expose his pink head, then deftly closed her mouth over it before releasing it with a pop of her lips, then repeating the action. He was rock hard and throbbing in no time.

Ian felt as though his knees would give out as she licked the bottom side of his head. But he was resolved not to collapse on the floor and take her with him, so he closed his eyes and enjoyed the fucking amazing sensations her tongue elicited from his cock.

He couldn't think of a better oral sex session than this. Most of the women he fucked were drunk and therefore sloppy during the deed. He wasn't too critical of them, for he knew he was probably not any better when he went down on women.

He was brought back to the present when he felt his balls clench. If she continued sucking him off he would come right then and there.

"Stop," he moaned. "Let's take this to the bedroom before I blow my load in your mouth."

Britta smiled as she ran her hand up and down his shaft, pulling on the foreskin so that it slid over the head. _Goddamnit, that's the fucking best feeling in the world_ , he told himself.

He pointed to his bedroom to reemphasize his point. "Please," he almost begged.

Britta got to her feet and grabbed one of his hands. "Wouldn't want a premature end to this night, now do we?" she teased. _Easy for her to say!_

\---

The two had finally made their way to Ian's bed, and Britta had never let go of his hand. She looked into his eyes as she grabbed the other hand, and smiled at him. "Fuck me, Ian," she said.

He nodded and motioned for her to lay down while he grabbed a condom from the nightstand. As he slid it over his member he wiggled his eyebrows, which caused Britta to giggle.

"You're hopeless," she replied.

Duncan hovered over her body. "You like it," he said. "And you're gonna like it even more when I make you come so hard you'll experience temporary blindness."

\---

Ian did not disappoint that night. As she stared up at the man who was fucking her missionary, Britta suspected he had foregone jerking off for a few days so he'd be raring to go when they finally saw each other again.

He continued to ravage her with such a ferocity that she briefly considered the status of their relationship. He was more than masterful with his fucking massive cock, and she couldn't get enough of it. She typically faked her orgasms, but not with Ian Duncan. He knew how to get her going, but he also trusted her now. They were friends, but could they be more than that?

A sinking feeling in her gut roused her back to the action. She was coming, and she could feel that she was going to come hard.

"Ohmygod," she moaned. "Faster, Ian, I'm close."

Duncan nodded and ramped up the speed of his thrusts in and out of her cunt. His breathing became more labored as his broken nose struggled to bring in enough air to his lungs. But he was a trooper, and was single-mindedly focused on bringing her to orgasm.

Finally, the muscles in her crotch clenched tightly over his shaft and she instinctively arched her back upward when stars exploded behind her eyes. "OHFUCK" she screamed. "OHFUCKGODDAMNIT!"

Ian grinned as he watched Britta come undone below him. She didn't ask him to stop, but he did slow his thrusts down so as not to overwhelm her senses.

Finally, she spoke again. "I want to suck you off, and I want you to blow your load in my face."

Duncan stopped, his cock still inside her. "Are you sure?" he asked. "That's kind of invasive, yeah?"

"I want to feel what it's like."

Ian pulled out of her, then ripped the condom off and flung it aside. "This would work better if you were on your knees."

They both got out of bed, and Britta got into position. "Come here, big boy."

Once his cock was close enough, she grabbed it and rammed it into her mouth. Duncan gasped as his head reached the back of her throat. "OHHHHH!"

Britta moaned in approval, and the vibrations from her throat rattled the part of him that was inside her mouth. "AHHHHH" he continued.

She pulled the cock out from her mouth and ran her hand along the shaft before taking it in again. Ian felt his balls tense up again. "I don't know... how much longer..."

Britta ran her tongue along the bottom of his dick before he could finish. Duncan's eyes slammed shut and he focused on what she was doing with that mouth of hers.

 _She's incredible_ , he said to himself as her lips closed ever tighter around him.

Ian held on for another two or three minutes before his eyes opened again and he pulled himself out of her and positioned his cock in front of her face. "Close your eyes," he whispered as his hand furiously slid up and down himself.

A few quick tugs and the universe collapsed around him. "AGH" he bellowed as he looked down to watch as several thick wads of cum shot from deep within his body and splattered all over Britta's face. He felt a twinge of guilt as she flinched from the sensation of the sticky hot liquid, but he remembered that she wanted to experience it.

Ian took in several deep breaths before he stumbled to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washrag.

"Hold still," he directed her as he began to wipe the cum from her face.

"What a gentleman!" Britta remarked when he had finished.

Duncan threw aside the rag. "You didn't seem to enjoy it when I came on your face. Do you regret that?"

"No way!" she replied. "I wanted it. I guess I wasn't as ready for it as I thought I would be."

Ian smiled and laid on his back. "Alright, then. Just so you're aware, I'll never do anything you don't want to do."

Britta surveyed him as he began to close his eyes. "I know. I'm the same way. Sex is one of those things, ya know? You've got to make sure everyone's on board."

Duncan nodded. It was clear he would fall asleep quickly, so she stopped talking until she heard gentle snores coming from him.

In the quiet of that late hour, Britta studied him again. He was at peace when he slept. His mouth opened slightly as he breathed in and out.

But the stupid ass left his glasses on his face. She tried to pull them off without waking him, but failed in that regard, for his eyes fluttered open and he turned his head to see who had - she assumed - disturbed his rest.

"Sorry," Britta said after she had pulled the frames off his head and placed them gently on the nightstand.

Ian smiled at her, his tired eyes shining at the kind gesture. "Don't be," he said tiredly. "Those things are expensive."

She pulled the blanket over his naked body. "Goodnight, Ian. I had a great time tonight."

Duncan fought against his heavy eyelids. "Sleep here tonight, in my bed? I promise I'll behave."

Britta slid underneath the blanket and settled her body close to his. "Wouldn't hurt anything."

Ian finally surrendered to the impending sleep. "Goodnight, Britta."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for things to happen, so I'm going to speed up the timeline a bit.  
> Songs referenced in this chapter (the '80s live on at Duncan's house!):  
> "Don't You Want Me" - Human League  
> "All the Things She Said" - Simple Minds  
> "Alive and Kicking" - Simple Minds  
> All song lyrics belong to the respective artists.

Much of June passed by with little consequence, and even became routine for Britta and Ian: she would go to her apartment every day to check on her cats and feed them before heading to work for a few hours while he went to therapy, read journals or went on bike rides. They then returned to his house where they would shag everywhere from the bed to the shower, and even once in his favorite leather recliner.

Britta still did not allow Ian to kiss her, which began to trouble him. However, shagging her fulfilled a long-held desire, and he didn't want to rock the boat. He was also reassured by the fact that Britta was spending most of her time at his house, so he knew she wasn't fucking anyone else.

Apart from their regular dalliances, they enjoyed getting really high a few times a week and figuratively sheltering themselves from the storms of their daily lives by simply dropping out of them. Duncan still drank a lot, which troubled Britta, but he wasn't hurting himself and he seemed to be getting happier... probably because his dick was getting a good workout (she assumed) or maybe because his psychiatrist had prescribed some new antidepressants (the likely culprit, she eventually concluded with a mental sigh).

As July inched closer, Ian was due to visit the doctor again to see if he needed reconstructive surgery on his nose. She wanted to be there, partially to keep him company in Waiting Room Hell and partially to support him if the news didn't work in his favor (she was his friend now, and that's what friends were for!). She even took the day off from work to go with him to the doctor's office.

“This is a fancy breakfast for a doctor's appointment,” Duncan noted when she set down a steaming plate of vegan sausage and gluten-free pancakes on the kitchen table.

Britta rested her hands on her hips. “I need to make sure you're eating. Might as well make you something tasty.”

Ian stabbed a fake sausage link and studied it with some suspicion. “Well then, you should have bought something edible,” he said with a hint of amusement.

Britta shot him a look of warning. “You'd better be careful or you'll definitely need to have that nose fixed.”

Duncan chuckled. “I am genuinely terrified,” he replied before motioning to his face. “Those bruises are finally gone and you want to go on and Banksy this masterpiece?”

She pointed to the plate that he was cautiously filling with what he considered culinary anomalies. “Just eat. We might be there for hours.”

\---

Britta watched with some curiosity as the doctor made Duncan tilt his head upward so he could shine a light up his nostrils. His Adam's Apple bobbed up, then down, as he fought off nervousness. A pang struck her heart as she watched him close his eyes when the doctor looked up his nose. She secretly hoped he wasn't in pain.

“Well, Ian,” the doctor began. “I'm not seeing any serious damage. The splint appears to have shifted your nose back into place. I don't think you'll need surgery.”

Britta breathed a sigh of relief as Duncan responded with “well, that's good, then.” She felt her phone buzzing in her back pocket and excused herself to answer it. Probably Shirley wondering where she was, or Jeff to gloat, or Annie to mourn her doomed relationship with Vaughn.

“Hello?” she said once she went into the hallway and flipped her phone open.

“Hi Miss Perry, this is Terri from Aspen Shadows Apartments. You got a minute?”

Ian thanked the doctor, but when he walked out of the examination room he found Britta farther down a hallway sitting in a chair with her hands over her face. She was crying. He cautiously approached her, then knelt in front of where she was sitting.

"What happened?" he whispered. He avoided touching her that moment, careful not to startle her.

Britta snapped her head up when she heard his voice. Her eyes were red and her face was streaked with thick tears. "Ian," she whispered back. "I'm being evicted from my apartment. Greedy fucking slumlords are raising my rent and I don't make enough money to stay there. I don't know what I'm going to do."

He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. Duncan hated to see her cry, but he was just a little relieved that he wasn't the source of that anguish (but still felt a little bad that he had that thought at that particular moment). He then grabbed a hand that was resting on her knee and gently rubbed it with his thumb while he pondered ways that he could help her. He wondered whether inviting her to crash at his place was appropriate considering her current distress and the time in which they had actually been friends (which hadn't been that long).

Then he decided he would just offer anyway. What else would she do at the last minute? "Stay with me, at my house," he offered in a soft and soothing voice. "Bring the kitties and stay with me. I'll help bring your stuff over. You're at my place all the time you practically live there anyway!”

Britta blinked back more tears, surprised at his generous gesture. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would," he said as he smiled at her. "You're one of my best friends."

"Oh, Ian!" she exclaimed as she threw her arms around him. "You're one of my best friends too. Thank you so much! I promise I'll stay out of your way."

Duncan returned the hug and chuckled. "You certainly don't need to do _that!_ I enjoy your company. I would like to have a cup of coffee or share a bowl with you every now and then."

Britta pulled back and returned his smile with one of her own. "I think I can manage that! By the way, it's nice to see your face with no bruises or splints again."

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Let's go home. We've got to get you ready to get out of that slum.”

 _Home,_ she mused as she grabbed the hand that was outstretched to her. _That sounds nice._

\---

"That's the last of it," Britta informed Duncan after she set a cardboard box on the floor, then dusted off her jeans.

Ian surveyed the scene in the guest room, which was Britta's new home. Everything she owned fit in the small space, and it only took them three days to pack up everything that was going to his house. "You certainly travel lightly."

Britta shrugged. "I prefer not to feed the capitalist machine with useless crap. Plus, I was happy to donate my furniture to the women's shelter. I felt empowered." She accentuated that last sentence with a shimmy.

"Commendable," Ian replied. "That's a healthy way of approaching this situation. Shall I rustle up some sandwiches for us?"

Britta waited until he was on his way out of the guest room to respond: “Yes, but use VEGANAISE this time, asshole!”

She grinned when she heard Duncan laughing in the kitchen, before apologizing for what he called an honest mistake (she wiped the mayo off her sandwich on the occasion of the offending incident, but didn't consider it to be that big of a deal). She could get used to the sound of his laughter (it was deep and joyful) and hoped to hear it again, both for her sake and his.

About a minute later Ian poked his head back into her room. “Bad news, we're out of Veganaise. Shall we make a quick run to the market?”

\---

A quick run turned into a stockpiling of vegan ingredients for Duncan's new roommate. Being the considerate friend that he turned out to be, he wanted to make sure Britta had EVERYTHING she needed to maintain her ethical diet.

It seemed as though the shopping trip was about to end when Ian realized they hadn't yet grabbed the one item they came for in the first place.

“I'll go get it,” he told Britta as she inspected some apples. She merely nodded, too enraptured in the juicy promise that lay beneath the crimson skin of the fruit she held in her hand.

About a minute or two later she had placed some apples in the cart before moving on to check out some decadent strawberries when she heard a familiar and cheerful voice call out not too far away.

"Britta!" She turned to see Annie Edison running toward her. Britta's heart skipped a beat but returned to its normal rhythm once she realized Duncan wasn't in sight at the moment. She hoped he would get lost navigating the exciting world of animal product alternatives, at least as long as it took her to catch up with her friend. She wouldn't know how to explain _that_ situation.

“Hey Annie!” Britta said almost too excitedly as Annie skipped over toward her for a massive hug. “How's your summer been?”

Annie pulled away and twirled a lock of hair in her fingers. “Pretty boring. It was too late to register for summer school since I changed my mind about going to Delaware with Vaughn. I assume you know about that?”

“Yeah, I saw your status on Facebook,” Britta said. “That's too bad about summer school. I know how much you were looking forward to that.”

“So have you seen Jeff lately?” Annie asked in an abrupt change of course ( _guess she doesn't need to mourn Vaughn after all_ , Britta noted).

She eyed her friend with some suspicion, then tried to convince herself that the question was entirely innocent. “No. I haven't seen him since the dance. I've been... helping a friend out with some stuff this summer.”

"Oh, I would have thought you would have talked to someone in the study group about that. I tried calling you. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, it's been a crazy summer. I've..."

"I found the Veganaise you like," Ian interrupted while looking down at the label. Clearly, he hadn't seen Annie standing there with her back to him. “No more blaming Duncan for the botched lunch!”

Annie's eyes turned wider than what seemed humanly possible, as she spun around violently when she heard his voice. "Professor Duncan?" she asked hesitantly. "What's going on here?"

Ian stopped in his tracks when he heard a voice that wasn't Britta's, then gasped when he saw Annie standing there. He then looked at Britta, who looked back at him. Neither knew what to say to Annie, so for the moment they remained silent.

"Why is Professor Duncan with you?" she continued, placing her hands on her hips to emphasize her need to know immediately.

Britta turned her attention back to Annie, her cheeks a deep crimson. "Um...do you promise not to tell anyone, not even Jeff?"

Annie nodded. "You have my word. Now, what's going on?"

"I'm living at Duncan's house now," she explained. "I got evicted from my apartment and he offered me his guest room."

Ian could only stare at the two while clenching and unclenching his fists. Confrontations between women - no matter how casual they seem to be - always forced him into silence.

Perhaps he was subtly giving off a guilty vibe, for Annie studied Duncan's mannerisms with suspicion. "That's not all there is to this, is there?" she asked as she continued to stare at Duncan, hoping to leech more information out of him.

Ian looked at Annie, then back at Britta, blushing wildly and hoping he wouldn't say the wrong thing. "No, actually. We have been... intimate... with each other." Britta's facial expression hadn't changed (neither had the shade of red on her face).

"Whoa," Annie whispered.

"Whoa, indeed," Duncan replied. "Please Annie, you can't say anything to anyone else. I'm technically not allowed to date students. I remember telling you as much during your first year."

He recalled the moment where he thought Annie was flirting with him in the lunch line her freshman year. She turned on her trademark charm with him, hoping to score a spot in his class on the Duncan Principle. He also fought against his chronic loneliness to inform her that he couldn't see her on a personal basis, even though he later discovered (via a drunken conversation with Jeff) that she harbored similar acrimonious attitudes about him that Britta did that year.

Britta stepped forward. "We're not dating," she said as Ian looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. "We're just screwing around."

 _That stung a little,_ Duncan said to himself. _You shouldn't have attached so much expectation to this. You'll never learn, git._

Annie nudged Britta with a suspicious grin on her face. "So, how is he?" she asked in a lowered tone. Duncan's head shot back up in shock. Oh god, the moment of truth, where he'd finally learn whether Britta had been lying to him all along. But that would have been uncharacteristic for her, as she was known for demanding authenticity and truth in all things and in all her relationships ( _not a relationship you twat,_ he said to himself. _Get a grip!_ ).

"ANNIE!" Britta gasped. Ian looked at the two women nervously. "Oh Christ," he muttered.

Britta noticed his discomfort and grabbed his hand to reassure him (much to the arching of Annie's eyebrow). "If you must know, Professor Duncan is surprisingly capable in that arena. I've had no complaints so far, and we fuck EVERY DAY."

He looked down at Britta's hand with some relief. He never wanted her to let go. "I'm good?" he squeaked.

Britta swatted his arm playfully with her other hand. "Of course you are! You're not terrible at EVERYTHING!"

Annie's eyes narrowed as she continued studying them. "You know, I can see this," she said while motioning between them. "You two aren't entirely weird, or gross. It... has potential."

“Just make sure you don't discuss that 'potential' in front of anyone else but us,” Britta warned. “You've been alarmingly understanding but I know _others_ won't be.”

“I already gave you my word,” Annie huffed. “By the way, I really dig the casual look, Professor Duncan. The dad jeans work for you. See you soon. Call me, Britta!” She then pushed her cart past them and skipped off toward the pasta aisle.

Ian laughed again, mostly out of relief, and Britta felt as though her heart would melt. That was quickly becoming one of her favorite sounds in the world.

\---

More laughter could be heard later that night as Ian and Britta shared a bottle of wine in the living room and recapped their awkward encounter earlier in the day.

“I thought I was going to faint when I saw Annie talking to you!” he mused as he poured more wine in his glass. “I hadn't been that scared since a jacked hooligan ripped my Liverpool scarf off at an Everton match!”

“I know!” Britta agreed. “I'm just glad we ran into Annie and not anyone else from the study group. I love them but Annie's the only one who can keep a secret.”

Britta had been begging Ian to allow her access to his vinyl record collection, and he finally acquiesced. That night she decided she wanted to listen to some of them, and was not disappointed once she began thumbing through the cardboard sleeves.

“The Smiths?” she asked wide-eyed as she sat cross-legged on the floor next to the turntables. “Is this an original pressing of 'The Queen is Dead'?”

“Mmm hmm,” he replied as he took a long sip from his glass, studying her from his recliner. “My mum gave it to me when I was 14. I was visiting her that Christmas and wanted something to remember her by. She likes them a lot. Will even take time off from the pub to throw her bra at Morrissey when he's playing. I like to think he's my real dad sometimes but I know that's not the reality.”

Britta turned her body around to regard him. He looked so refined sitting in that chair, swirling around the wine in his glass in between sips. All he needed was that red smoking jacket and black silk pants, but at that moment his ratty hoodie, faded Dave Matthews Band tour t-shirt, and dad jeans, would make do. “How did your parents meet?” she asked him.

Ian took another sip from his glass before addressing her with a long sigh. “He's a regular at this pub in Islington, has been since he played for the Arsenal reserve squad. He met her while she was working the other regulars, though she's back home tending the family pub in Scunthorpe now.”

Britta's smile was wiped from her face. “Worked, as in prostitution?”

Duncan nodded with a hint of shame. “I was obviously not part of _his_ plans. But, Dad married Mum anyway and we lived with him for a few years. She wanted a baby but not the man who gave one to her. Unfortunately, she didn't realize that at first.”

“What did he do?” she asked cautiously.

Ian shook his head. “I don't want to talk about that right now,” he said with a degree of sterility before offering a genuine smile. “Come on, pick a record to play and liven up the place a bit! I'll get the weed.”

Britta nodded and returned her attention to his collection while Duncan bounded out of his chair to go and get the bong.

"The Human League?” she yelled as she spied a yellowing copy of 'Dare'. The man on the cover wore more makeup than she ever would. “Who are they?"

"Do you remember that song 'Don't you want me baby?'" he replied once he returned with the bong, singing the chorus of the song in question. When Britta nodded, he continued. "That's them. My mum danced to those sorts of songs in the clubs. Very '80s in Britain sort of group."

"The Cure," Britta said after thumbing through a few more albums. "This makes more sense."

Ian smirked. "You thought I just listened to Dave, then?"

She turned over the album to look at the art on the other side. "I pegged you to be more of the brooding Robert Smith type, not the yuppies who follow Dave around in their tan Volvos."

Duncan rubbed his chin while in thought. "Dave evinces different aspects of my personality. Robert Smith broods, Dave shouts it from the rooftops."

Britta set aside the Cure record as she continued shuffling through the stack of vinyl. "Thompson Twins, Pet Shop Boys, Simple Minds, the Eurythmics... you're stuck in the '80s, Ian."

He shrugged after settling down on the couch. "It was the best time for music, by my unprofessional estimation."

She chose the Simple Minds record from the stack (the men on the cover looked authentic) and put it on the turntable then set the needle on the edge of the vinyl.

When she looked up she studied Ian as he carefully ground up the buds at the coffee table. He was meticulous in everything that he cared about. During sex, he made sure that she always came, no matter if he already had. He kept the bathroom and kitchen spotless (more a testament to his OCD, but still done out of respect for her, she suspected).

Britta's heart warmed as she then watched him pack the bowl. Sure, he still acted like an ass sometimes and said dopey shit when he drank too much (who doesn't?). But when they were alone and he didn't throw up his walls against the world, he was pleasant and always generous. Professor Duncan checked so many of her personal boxes: he was well-educated and assumedly well-read as a result, gave no shits about fashion, treated her kindly even though she didn't always return the favor, and was maybe a little attractive... maybe.

For a moment she pondered the lyrics of the song that was playing as she continued to watch Ian prepare the bong.

“ _Oh, to be near you in the first morning light._ _  
I'd be with you, I dream about you.”_

Britta gulped. She had indeed dreamt about him, and there were times when she weren't there that she wished she were. She thought about him at the diner when things got hectic. She sometimes saw his face in the faces of strangers she encountered in her everyday life. There was something about him that calmed her and powered her through the busy times.

“ _She said, this is our time, she said, this is our place.  
This is the space my heart wants to be.”_

She couldn't blame anyone but herself for playing this album. But there was some truth in the lyrics. She wanted to be there more than anywhere else, sharing her life and laughter with Ian. Now was the time for her to see if he was still interested in being more than what they were. The sex was excellent, but Britta realized he could be an all-around great lover and would never mistreat her. This wouldn't be settling, this would be more like the discovery of a rare treasure after so many years of coming up with duds and fakes.

"So... what are we?" she blurted.

Ian looked up with a confused frown on his face. "Beg your pardon?" he asked incredulously.

She clenched her fists. "I mean, we fuck around and all that, but we don't ever talk about what all that really means."

Duncan put down the bong and placed a hand on his hip while ducking his head. "I thought all you wanted to do was to mess around," he replied. "You dropped some pretty big hints earlier in front of Annie. I mean, I'm not even allowed to kiss you, and you told her we weren't dating. That all seems to be clear to me, yeah?"

Britta abandoned the stack of records and slowly approached him. "Yeah, but are you happy with that? You know I know how you feel about me... or at least how you felt about me last semester."

Ian leaned into the couch back and sighed. He took off his glasses to wipe his brow on his hoodie before responding. "What are you playing at, Britta?" he asked her wearily.

She rushed over to the couch and sat at a respectable distance from him. "I mean... I might be changing my mind about this whole arrangement."

He returned the glasses to his face, then turned his head to look at her. Britta noticed that he appeared exhausted and had neglected to shave for nearly a week. "You don't want to do this anymore?" he asked curiously, not to mention a bit worried.

"That's not it at all," Britta replied. "I'm just confused."

Duncan continued to look at her. "What is there to be confused about? We're just shagging here. That's what you wanted."

"Do you want more than that?"

"You know I do."

"I think I do too."

Ian turned his entire body to face hers. "Well, we can talk about it more if you'd like. But I'd like to relax for a bit first." He motioned to the neglected bong.

Britta scooted her body closer while he fired it up and took a rip. He let the smoke linger in the back of his throat before he slowly exhaled and passed the bong to her. She kept her eyes on his face while she took a rip of her own and passed it back to him.

Ian took a moment to study Britta's actions, then he moved a hand to rest it under her chin and used his thumb to guide her lips to part. He wanted to shotgun. "Atta girl," he whispered before removing that hand to take another rip.

Britta closed her eyes and felt her heart race, excited for whatever may come next. She smiled when she felt Duncan's hand return to rest under her chin. Ian then breathed out slowly, close to her face, and let her take in the smoke he exhaled.

" _You turn me on, you lift me up._  
_And like the sweetest_ cup _I'd share with you._  
_You lift me up, don't you ever stop, I'm here with you._  
_Now it's all or nothing._  
_'Cause you say you'll follow through_  
_You follow me, and I, I follow you."_

 _My god is this hot_ , she said to herself as she let the smoke settle in the back of her throat. It didn't escape her notice that those foreign feelings swirled in her mind again. _Is this what it's like to have genuine feelings for someone?_

When she opened her eyes a short time later, Britta found Ian's sparkling brown eyes staring directly at her own. Then she was surprised to hear a gasp escape from her lips. Her heart continued racing deep within her. _These ARE feelings. I have feelings for Professor Duncan. I want to BE with him._

Ian smiled at the reaction, entirely unaware of Britta's inner dialogue but cognizant of the fact that something was going on, something was changing. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hi," she replied, snapping out of her self-conversation. Without a second thought, Britta placed her hand on his chest and took a moment just to feel his heartbeat, to make a connection with this man for whom she had just discovered an attraction. Unsurprisingly she noticed he was just as nervous as she was. _Maybe he's thinking the same thing?_

"Hey," Ian repeated, slightly louder than the whisper he uttered before. Britta looked back up at him just in time to see him leaning in for a kiss, his eyes closed in equal parts anticipation and fear of rejection. She met him halfway and gratefully welcomed his lips with her own, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to think of the pain she had the power to inflict with the simplest of actions.

There was no pain there then, only the excitement and nervousness of endless possibilities unfolding with each pass of lip on lip. Duncan's own mouth swelled as a lightning bolt seemingly struck his entire body. She was not rejecting him; in fact, she willingly broke her rule and readied her mouth for his. This arrangement had certainly changed!

Britta didn't expect her first kiss with him to be so gentle, so respectful. Duncan didn't ram his tongue down her throat like so many men who came before him. Instead, he took his time discovering the lips that he had long dreamed of knowing. And she allowed him to explore without hesitation.

She decided to test the waters and stuck the tip of her tongue at the slight opening in his mouth. She felt an exhalation coming from his end, then when his shy tongue met her advance Britta pulled away a few inches to catch her fleeting breath and opened her eyes to regard Ian while his eyes were still closed and his features could be noticed before he could put up any emotional walls.

His soft lips - which were barely parted - were tinged a deeper red from his peaceful explorations. She admired his flush, heavily whiskered cheeks, and the adorable dimples that accented them at all times. Britta took the liberty of brushing back a stray strand of jet black hair from his forehead and noted that she thought his growing collection of grey hairs looked quite distinguished.

Ian's eyes fluttered open and he looked at her, slightly concerned. "Miss Perry?" he whispered. "You alright?"

She smiled and nodded, then cupped the side of his face with her hand. "We just kissed, so I don't think you need to call me that anymore, least not in private."

Duncan nodded, then leaned back in for another kiss (with a lot more tongue this time!). Britta shifted her body on the couch so that she could position herself closer. He seemed to read her mind, then moved one of his legs so she could press herself against him. He then slipped his hands on either side of her hips, and Britta rested her arms around his shoulders. She couldn't escape the fact that all of this was getting both of them going; his excitement was obviously more evident than hers and was straining against his jeans. She wondered if that hurt him.

Ian pulled back from the kiss this time. He was panting and grinning. "I think we need to stop here," he said between breaths. "I don't think I'll be able to go very far once the weed kicks in."

Britta snuck a kiss on his cheek, then climbed into his lap. "Whatever you'd like, but I'm partial toward cuddling, myself."

Duncan looked down at her. "Bold... for you. But I'm not opposed to that."

She smiled then placed her hand on his chest again. His heart rate had slowed; he was at peace, he was not troubled. Her own heart skipped a beat when he grasped that hand with his. It was warm and held a promise of protection. He could never allow her to be hurt.

“So, what are we?” she repeated, only with less urgency than before.

He sighed, not so much from ignorance but from a slight concern that he would say the wrong thing. He knew that she knew that he wanted more, and had from the beginning. But he had also experienced plenty of rejection in his life and was wary of putting his heart out there again.

“You know what I want us to be,” he whispered, hoping he hadn't said too much already. “I want to be more to you, more _for you_.”

Britta curled her body closer into his. Her hand was still shielded by his hand on his chest. “I've thrown men less of a barrier than I have with you. Men who didn't deserve it. It's only fair that I give you that same chance. Fuck it, let's do it, let's see where this goes.”

"How about if we go on a proper first date tomorrow?" Ian suggested.

"I'm down," she replied.

The first side of the album stopped as the weed seemingly slowed the world down around them. He eventually removed his hand from atop hers, then wrapped an arm around her body. Nothing else mattered at that moment; the sofa had become their universe, and they sat suspended in the thick air of anticipation. At that moment it didn't matter what the future held; Britta and Ian surrendered to the present and they enjoyed sitting there in each other's company, content with this new relationship they had mutually embraced.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Had to break this chapter up into two parts. It's a doozy! Enjoy. Part Two will be up in a few days.

The sound of soft pitter and patter on the roof roused Ian from a deep and restful sleep. His eyes fluttered open as he slowly regained his awareness. He was still on the couch in the living room; Britta had curled up at his side with a hand on his stomach, still slumbering, softly breathing in and out. He smiled at the sight, and at what had happened between them the night before. He had kissed her, and she did not shy away from him. In fact, she accepted his lips by aligning them with her own.

Ian then looked out at the window at the welcome sight of the tail end of a summer rain. The sun had just begun to break on the horizon, for the sky was still a deep purple. He studied the rain that dripped down from the roof that covered the front porch. At that moment, nothing needed to be done; he was free to just be.

“Good morning,” he heard a weak voice address him. His attention turned from the rain to a sleepy Britta, who was looking up at him with half-open eyes.

“Did I wake you?” he whispered as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Britta shook her head. “Mmm, no,” she replied.

“Then it is a good morning,” he said before leaning down to kiss her on her forehead. She did not flinch or push him away, which was encouraging.

She grabbed one of his hands and squeezed it. “How are you?” she asked.

“Much better than I imagined 24 hours ago,” he admitted. “How about you?”

“Same. Did you wear your glasses while you were sleeping?”

Duncan's hand reached up for his frames absentmindedly. “I guess I did.”

Britta reached up and pulled them off his face. “You're gonna break them one of these days,” she said before once again regarding his eyes without them. Despite the sparse light of this early dawn the subtle coffee brown of his irises still shone with a brilliance that matched his true self.

Their serenity was only slightly disturbed by the sound of the front door being unlocked by a key. "It's probably Pat," Ian noted sleepily. "Apart from you, he's the only other person who has a key."

Britta found that fact curious as she caught sight of the elusive neighbor for the first time. As he walked inside the house, Pat's long hair swished around his head; it was a sandy brown with strands of grey flecked in, with matching goatee. He wore a faded tie-dyed tank top and holey cargo shorts, and he shuffled about in hiking sandals. Pat seemed to be a pretty chill neighbor, and someone she wouldn't mind smoking with.

"It's gonna be a beautiful day, Duncan!" Pat called out, assuming he had passed out in his bed. "You need to be out on your bike, man!" He seemed to be outside a lot, as evidenced by the very tan skin that contrasted with the tie-dye.

"Good morning, Pat!" Ian replied chipperly, catching his friend off guard. Pat turned toward the direction of the voice and strolled toward them, grinning all along the way.

"You must be Britta," he said as he extended his free hand out in greeting. The other hand grasped a white paper bag. "I've heard a lot about you. Very cool name, by the way. I'm Pat, your neighbor."

Britta grabbed his hand to shake it. "Pleased to meet you," she replied. "Ian's spoken about you too. Says you've always got bagels."

Pat smiled as he held up the bag to her. "Special delivery," he said. "You need to get him out of the house today. It can't be wasted!"

"Deal," she said as she took the bag from him. "We're actually supposed to be going on a date tonight. He asked me out just last night."

One of Pat's bushy and graying eyebrows arched in surprise. He turned his attention to Duncan. "Good for you, man! Like really. I'm glad to see you getting out there. It's... been awhile, my friend."

Ian nodded, almost solemnly. "Indeed."

Pat began backing up toward the door. "I think I'm going to take the missus out hiking. You'd like her, Britta. Her name is Gloria. Maybe someday this week we can all get together for dinner or herb or something. Duncan says you're a good smoking buddy."

"It's a plan!" she replied with a toothy smile. "It was really nice to meet you, Pat!"

"You've got to tell me how your date goes with this guy," Pat added as he jerked his thumb in Ian's direction. "I think I'd rather trust your account."

Britta nodded. "Oh, I will!"

Pat waved to them and slipped back out into the dawn. Duncan turned back to face her. His eyes widened nervously. "Listen, I'm beyond thrilled that you're willing to give me a chance," he said while wringing his hands. "But I've been thinking about it, and I don't want us to jump into anything too quickly. That lends itself to missteps and the potential for... drama. Wouldn't you agree?"

Britta nodded. "I'm willing to take it slow if you are."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed with a slight jump in his seat. "Now, I want to discuss where I want to take you out tonight. There's a great vegan-friendly place in Boulder I've been to with Pat a few times. I think it's right up your alley, though it may be a little bougie if that's not a turn-off."

Britta's heart soared at the proposition. Selfless Duncan seemed to elicit this felicity.

Ian tilted his head to one side. "What?" he asked with a slight chuckle.

She shrugged. "It's just... I've never had a man go to such lengths for me. I'm not used to this kind of stuff."

He leaned back into the sofa and folded his arms behind his head. "Well, I'm not like other guys, as you may be aware."

"I _am_ aware," she replied. "So, should I doll myself up for tonight?"

Duncan shrugged. "You do whatever you want."

Britta narrowed her eyes in his direction. "What are _you_ wearing?"

Ian wagged a finger at her. "That would ruin all the fun! Plus, I feel if I answered that would influence your decision, and I'm not in a position to do so."

She huffed in response, then handed his glasses back to him. "Well if I decide to get dolled up I'm not gonna change if you decide to look like a slob tonight. You can be the one to look stupid!"

\---

Britta frantically shuffled through the clothes that now hung in what was once the guest room. She wanted her first date with Ian to be memorable for both of them, even if there was the slightest of threats he would turn up looking slovenly.

That's when she found the dress from the night where everything between them changed; the Tranny Dance dress. This was the one. This had to be the one. She touched the lacy sleeves and was briefly taken back to that fateful night in May, especially to the moment where she first felt something other than disgust for Duncan.

“ _Hey!” Britta yelled over the crowd that gathered around the fight. She pushed her way through the gawking mass, then shoved the dalmatian men aside before grabbing Chang by the collar of his shirt and staring maliciously into her former Spanish teacher._

“ _Get the fuck out of here!” she screamed at him through clenched teeth._

“ _Pssh, since when is HE your buddy?” Chang muttered before he disappeared into the crowd._

_When she looked down at his victim, Britta gasped. Professor Duncan was holding his hands over his nose and mouth, but blood was still seeping through his fingers. Britta knelt next to him as he struggled to sit up._

“ _Professor Duncan?” she addressed him softly once he was able to sit up. At that moment, all feelings of malice she previously held for her psychology professor vanished, and her innate need to help people took over._

_Ian looked at her wearily. “Mmm yeah?” he replied._

_Britta slipped her arms under his armpits to bring him to his feet. Her concern for the man was growing. “We need to get you checked out. You don't look great.”_

“ _When do I ever?” he replied with a drunken chuckle._

_Britta shrugged, her distaste threatening to overcome the caring attitude she adopted toward Duncan as of late. “I'm not gonna answer that. Come on, let's go. I'm driving. Where are your keys?"_

Britta smiled at the memory. "He'll love it," she whispered as she slipped the dress off the hanger.

Ian tapped his feet on the living room floor nervously and stared at the clammy hands in his lap as he waited for Britta to get ready for the evening. He took a little extra time getting ready that evening, even making sure his hair wasn't messy and his clothes weren't wrinkled. He also gargled an extra 30 seconds to ensure his breath wouldn't offend, and stashed some mints in his pocket for later.

He wore an heirloom olive green wool jacket and matching pants (it was the nicest piece he owned... only the best for Britta!), plus a red paisley tie that was tucked under a dark brown suede vest (again, only the best!). Blood-red Vans sneakers completed his get-up in the most Duncan way imaginable.

The silence of his nervousness was interrupted by the approaching sound of high-heeled footsteps on the hardwood floors. Duncan looked up just in time to see Britta strolling into the living room, and he gasped. He stood up from his recliner to greet her before taking a moment to soak up her beauty.

She stood there for a moment, nervously hovering her hands right over thighs that were slightly covered by seductive black fabric. A sheepish lipstick-clad grin, framed ever so slightly by her trademark wavy hair, greeted his eyes. But what nearly struck him down like a lightning bolt was when he realized she wore _that_ dress.

"You look absolutely beautiful," he finally said as he reached for both of her hands. "I'm utterly breathless."

Britta studied what Ian was wearing (full elevator eyes and all) before delivering a chaste kiss to his lips. "I'm not gonna lie, Ian, this Ivy League professor look is really doing it for me. You're - dare I say it - looking hot tonight."

Duncan blushed and ducked his head. "I wouldn't go as far as to say _that,_ " he responded.

She hugged him. "Aww, you don't need to be so hard on yourself. I haven't told anyone this, but I really dig your style. And your dimples are cute!"

Those dimples furrowed deeper into his cheeks as a wide smile shot across his face. "Oh, Britta..."

She pulled him in for another kiss to prevent him from making any other self-deprecating comments. Her lips lingered on his for a few seconds until she pulled away and cupped his cheek with her hand. "I won't have you beating yourself up tonight," she said in a matter-of-fact way. "You're a beautiful man, Ian, in every way imaginable."

He nodded in reply, then motioned for the door. "Shall we get a move on?"

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First date, part 2!
> 
> Song referenced in this chapter:  
> "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)" - Talking Heads

Ian tucked into the last of his grilled eggplant as he listened to Britta divulging more of her back story. She had certainly seen more in her lifetime than he had, and he was fascinated by the tales of her globetrotting and anarchist hijinks.

 

“So you were able to avoid arrest?” he said with a chuckle.

 

“Yeah, but I still got pepper sprayed,” Britta said sheepishly. A slight blush had colored her cheeks. “Have you ever had that happen to you?”

 

“No, and I certainly hope I never will!” he replied after taking a large sip of wine. “Is it as bad as I think it is?”

 

She slurped down her mouthful of vegan udon and nodded fiercely. “Hell yeah!” she said without raising her voice. “I thought I was gonna go blind. There wasn't enough water in the world to stop that kind of burning!”

 

Ian grimaced, then took another sip of his wine. “Sorry you had to go through all that.”

 

Britta shrugged. “It's all good. So what about you? You ever get arrested?”

 

“I have, indeed!” he said with widened eyes, as if he was proud of this story. “I was 19, studying at Oxford at the time. I was in Liverpool for a match one weekend. I got drunk at a pub and these casuals from Manchester began rioting near the stadium, so I decided I wanted to put them in their place. As I was brawling with this chap a rozzer bumped into me and I punched him, not even thinking about who it was.”

 

“You're shittin' me! _You_ punched a cop?”

 

Duncan grinned as the waiter dropped off the check. “I have. But before he hauled me off he took out his truncheon and thumped me a few times. The alcohol numbed the pain a little bit at the time, but the next day was hell.”

 

“So you're not just an alcoholic shut-in,” she noted. “You've had some fun, too.”

 

Once the bill had been paid and the rest of the wine polished off, Ian and Britta found themselves standing outside the restaurant thinking of places they could go to next.

 

“There are a few wine bars about a block off,” Duncan suggested. “Or some dives closer by. We can do whatever you wish.”

 

A hipster with a camera approached them. “Hey guys, I'm Blake with the _Post_. Can I take your picture for the Life section?”

 

“Only if I can have a copy of the original,” Ian offered.

 

“No problem,” Blake said through a twirly moustache. “Cool suit, bro. Where'd you get it?”

 

Britta giggled as Ian responded. “It was my granddad's. He got it in London in '62.”

 

“Sweet vintage! Now get close, you too.”

 

Duncan wrapped his arm around Britta's waist and pulled her closer to him. She responded by positioning both arms around his own torso. They didn't look at the camera, only at each other, smiling all the while.

 

“No turning back from this,” he said to her. “Once it's published everyone will know.”

 

“Bring it on,” she said back to him.

 

Blake got his picture and some identifying information, then gave Ian his business card and shook his hand. “You too are a good looking couple, and I'm not just saying that because you helped me do my job!” The hipster waved goodbye at them, then wandered off toward the other bars.

 

“Thanks for playing along,” Ian said in a low voice to Britta.

 

“No worries, bro! We have plenty of booze at home, and the weed. Is it cool if we just head back?”

 

“Absolutely, bro. I'll call a cab.”

 

\---

 

"That place was a lot of fun!" she exclaimed once Duncan had unlocked the front door, and they were back inside the house.

 

Ian grinned as he toed off his sneakers near the door. "I knew you'd enjoy it. I thought of you last time Pat and I went there."

 

Britta stopped after she too took off her shoes and placed them near his. "Aww, Ian!" she exclaimed as she placed a hand over her heart. That was one of the sweetest gestures a man had ever done for her. He really did care for her and wanted to make her happy.

 

Duncan gestured toward the living room. "Do you dance?" he asked. "I do on occasion and enjoy it."

 

She took his hand so he could lead her into the room. "I may be a little rusty but I could follow along."

 

Ian walked over to the record player, then knelt next to his collection of vinyl records and began looking through his albums. "I'll pick something easy, then," he said as he pulled out a sleeve from the rest and pulled the record out to place on the player.

 

He had found the spot on the vinyl and set the needle down to begin the song. It was very '80s; an island-inspired synthesizer and bass intro permeated the room before a high-pitched keyboard wailed above it all. By then Ian had wrapped an arm around Britta's waist, and he began leading her in a simple slow dance. Both kept their eyes on the other, saying nothing and becoming immersed in the atmosphere that the dim lamplight and the music afforded.

 

_Hi-yeah, I got plenty of time._

_Hi-yeah, you got light in your eyes._

_And you're standing here beside me._

_I love the passing of time._

_Never for money, always for love._

_Cover up and say goodnight._

 

Britta closed her eyes and pondered the events of that evening, especially Duncan's decision to take her to a vegan restaurant even though he wasn't a vegan himself. He had been so selfless, so giving, all for her and only for her. But at that moment he wanted to dance, to spend it in quiet contentment in her company, so she was more than willing to acquiesce.

 

_Home is where I want to be._

_But I guess I'm already there._

_I come home, she lifted up her wings._

_I guess that this must be the place._

_I can't tell one from the other._

_Did I find you or you find me?_

 

She was roused from her thoughts and her silence when Ian spun her in place. When she was back close to his body, he regarded her with some curiosity, his full lips parting to speak. "What are you thinking about?" he whispered.

 

"How much of a wonderful time I've had tonight," Britta replied. "This was probably the best first date I've ever been on."

 

Duncan dipped her then pulled her body back to his. "Glad to hear it," he said. "And the dancing?"

 

"I never thought to slow dance to the Talking Heads, but hey, I'm up to try anything once."

 

A thoughtful and slightly mischievous look crossed his face. "I'm saving that bit of info for a rainy day," he mused (which earned him a playful slap on his chest).

 

"You suck," she muttered as she held his guiding hand a little tighter.

 

Ian dipped her once more, but let her dangle just over the ground for a few seconds. "I know what _you do_ but what am I?"

 

"Is that a request?" she said as he looked down into her face. He ignored her question and instead admired the way her hair gushed past her face and nearly touched the floor. But she didn't look threatened. On the contrary, she radiated peace. Her body was unrestrained and she bent and twisted to the music in such a carefree way.

 

Duncan pulled her body back up and watched as the hair swirled around her. He then resumed leading her around the room. "I must say you look exceptionally lovely tonight. It's been an immense pleasure dancing with you."

 

Britta let go of his leading hand and wound her arms around his shoulders. A gasp from Ian made her grin as she pressed herself closer to him. "Ditto," she whispered once she pressed her forehead to his. “Though you don't have to be so formal around me all the time. You're not my teacher in this house.”

 

“In my opinion, you deserve respect,” he whispered back. “But if you want me to be more casual I can be.”

 

“Just be yourself! You know I like authenticity, and you're pretty true to yourself already.”

 

They danced long after that side of the record ran out, both enjoying the placidity that each other's company provided. But it was getting late, and neither remembered that they had booze and weed, so they decided to wind down their evening.

 

“Did you enjoy this date?” Duncan asked as he guided her to the couch.

 

“I did, a lot!” Britta said once they sat down. “I'm glad I gave you a chance.”

 

Ian rested an arm on the couch back, then leaned his head against it. “Would you want to go on another one, then?”

 

“We'll see,” she joked.

 

“Well, at least I had this one night!” he replied with a pretend sadness in his voice.

 

Britta began to pull on his wool jacket, in the direction of his bedroom. “We still have the rest of this night for other things,” she offered suggestively. “As much as you look good in this suit, I think it would look better on the floor.”

 

Duncan followed her down the hall. “I can easily have that arranged!”

 

In short order, Britta had Ian inside the bedroom, where she promptly removed the jacket and haphazardly tossed it to the floor. He reached around and unzipped the back of her dress, suggesting that she shrug it off her shoulders. The dress fell off her body all too easily. She wasn't wearing any sort of underwear underneath.

 

“God damn,” he said in a breathy voice. “Now _that's_ a pleasant surprise.”

 

Au naturel Britta tugged on his tie to pull him closer to her. Once he was nearer she grabbed the back of his head to get him even closer, and allowed his lips to clash with hers. Ian's eyes slammed shut and he uncharacteristically rammed his tongue down her throat. In response, Britta clamped a hand on his crotch and squeezed his swelling cock.

 

“Unnnnnn!” he moaned in her mouth as he unconsciously bucked his hips to the sensation.

 

Britta unlatched her lips for a brief moment. “You want to do this fucking rough?” she whispered as she squeezed him a little harder (which elicited another moan from him). “Fuck me rough, you bastard.”

 

Duncan loosened his tie enough to remove it from around his neck, then he flung it to the floor. “Oh I'll do just that,” he replied as he unlooped his belt then unzipped his pants so he could allow his cock more room to grow. Britta gasped when she noticed that his member was surrounded on all sides by those silken boxers he wore when he previously seduced her.

 

“You are so fucking hot to me right now,” she said as she watched him remove his pants and boxers.

 

After that Ian removed his glasses, then his shirt. He was primal man, oozing raw sex. His perfectly hairy chest heaved from equal parts excitement and movement. Britta admired his cock as it swayed with his motions, the pink head glistening with precum and pointing the way toward their shared ecstasy. She couldn't take it anymore, she needed him inside of her. So, she hiked up her leg, grabbed his cock, and deftly plunged it into her cunt.

 

Duncan's eyes closed once more, and he took in a sharp gasp of breath through his crooked teeth. “Ahhh,” was all he could manage at that moment.

 

“Too rough?” she asked as she bucked herself against him.

 

His small eyes focused on hers once they reopened. “Hell no,” he replied while humping her.

 

“Good,” she said through gritted teeth. “Fuck me as hard as you can, big boy.”

 

He was too in the zone to get distracted now. But he was coherent enough to bend her over on the edge of the bed so he could ravage her from behind.

 

“Oh, this is so fucking GOOD,” Britta said between each thrust. “Fuck. ME.”

 

“Gladly,” he said. He slapped her ass for garnish, earning him a deep moan in gratitude. “You like that, yeah? I'll remember that for later.”

 

Britta dug her fingernails into one of his hairy thighs, as she inched closer to orgasm with each thrust of Ian's abundant inches. “GODYES,” she screamed, and dug her fingernails deeper, eventually drawing a small amount of blood. But Ian didn't notice; he too was close to coming.

 

“Britta... I... don't know... how much longer...”

 

“Just keep going,” she replied, nearly pleading. “Don't stop, Ian... please.”

 

He did just as she asked, quickening his thrusts to the point where his balls began slapping up against her ass. That sent him over the edge, and he didn't have enough time to pull out before he came.

 

“MOTHERFUCK,” he bellowed, shuddering as hot ribbons of cum shot out from deep within his balls and deep into Britta. He nearly collapsed from the shock of his orgasm. Instead, he slipped out of her and stumbled backward, trying to regain his composure.

 

Britta turned around, hoping that she wouldn't have to pick him up from the floor. But she saw that he was quickly recovering and grinned at him.

 

“You haven't... you haven't come yet,” he said between massive intakes of air.

 

“Well then get your ass over here and finish the job!”

 

Ian grasped at Britta's sparse hips, then guided her body down onto the mattress. His hands slipped between her thighs, willing them to part for him. Before she could say anything else, he bent down and licked her sopping clit.

 

“Oh!” she yelled, unaware that she was so sensitive. “This won't take long!”

 

Duncan briefly popped his head up from between her legs. “Good,” he said with a sinister grin on his face. Then, he was back to licking up the juices that continued to gush from her insides.

 

Brita gripped at the sheets, nearly tearing holes in the fabric. “Mother. FUCKER! OHFUCK!”

 

And she came. Hard. She felt as though she was punched in the gut, and she arched her midsection as the flood of rapture overcame her. That was unequivocally the best orgasm she had ever experienced. And it hit, over and over again.

 

She finally collapsed into the sheets, and closed her eyes, desperately clawing for composure. “Fuck,” she whispered.

 

Ian followed suit and spent a few moments staring at her in her post-orgasmic haze. She was perfect, nothing could beat the electric charge between their bodies. _Is this love?_ he asked himself. _Dare I even think this way? Is it too soon?_

 

He leaned over to kiss her chastely on the cheek. She smiled, refusing to open her eyes, but returned that kiss with a peck on the lips.

 

“How are you?” he whispered. “You gonna be okay?”

 

“Of course,” she replied. “You are talented.”

 

“So... good date, then?”

 

“Hell yeah.”

 

He rolled over on his back, content with her assessment. As he was drifting off into slumber he felt Britta's hand land gently on his chest.

 


	11. Chapter 11

“Britta?” was the first word Ian remembered muttering as he opened his eyes the next morning. He reached over for her because he assumed she was still in bed with him. But, he was more than a little surprised to find that she wasn't there.

He rose up in bed then grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on. _Was I dreaming about all that?_ he asked himself, still a little disoriented from the sleep.

Duncan hastily put on a shirt and sweatpants and sleepily stumbled his way into the kitchen. There appeared to be fresh coffee in the pot, so maybe he wasn't dreaming. He rubbed at some stubble on his cheek, then walked toward the guest room. The door was open, so he peeked inside.

All of Britta's possessions were still in there and her cats rested on the made bed, staring at him. _So she hasn't just up and left, then,_ he noted as he briefly examined how the guest room had changed since she moved into it, and since he moved out of it.

The moss-green walls were now covered with concert posters and thrift store nick-knack velvet paintings. Where once his Liverpool team photo beamed proudly, a nicked Pixies concert poster hung. A tame reprint of a watercolor cottage replaced a rather scandalous (at the time) Playboy centerfold from the early '90s. She chose to keep the headboard from his youth, as well as the hand-me-down lamp that perpetually rested on the mismatched dresser. Thankfully he had long ago discarded the sheets that were original to the bed because, well, he was once a typical teenage boy with urges (and it didn't help that the Playmate in that centerfold stared at him seductively through high gloss every night).

He smiled at the improvements made to his old room. Britta was not a sheep. She thought for herself and liked whatever suited her fancy... even if it was concert posters or mismatched secondhand nick-knacks.

 _Just like me_ , he said to himself.

“Duncan, it's a beautiful day, man!” he heard Pat call from the front of the house, and immediately following the close of the door. “I spoke to Britta about your date!”

Ian trudged into the hallway to where Pat stood and noticed that he was holding a bottle of wine. “You did? Where is she?”

“She got a text from her friend and ran off. She wanted to talk to her about the date, too, I guess.”

“Annie,” Duncan whispered as he ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“Yeah, that's her!” Pat said as he offered up the bottle. “Is that a problem?”

Ian motioned for him to join him in the kitchen. “I don't think so. Annie caught us grocery shopping and our cover was blown. She promised she wouldn't tell anyone about us.”

Pat sat down and opened the bottle with a corkscrew that lay on the kitchen table. “It's nice to have someone to talk to about that kind of stuff.”

Duncan pulled out two of his comically large glasses and walked over to the table. “Bloody truth, that is. So what brings you over with such a lovely gift?”

“I heard her side of the story. Now I want to hear yours.”

“You are such a good friend,” Ian noted before he generously poured wine into each glass. “Well, I haven't been on many proper dates, but I have to say it was one of the best nights of my entire life.”

Pat propped up an arm on the table and rested his head in his hand, wagging his bushy eyebrows, urging Duncan to continue.

\---

"Wow, I didn't know he had it in him!" Annie exclaimed as she stabbed at a crushed beer can with a trash picker.

Britta couldn't wait to talk to her about the date so she agreed to meet Annie while she was out cleaning trash from around Greendale's waterways. Annie even pulled away from flirting with Rich, whom she met in her pottery class last year.

"There was a nice vegan dinner and dancing. I'm telling you, Annie, it was the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me!"

Annie did a sort of hop in place as she squealed in excitement. "That is _so_ cute! You guys... just work. If you had any doubts about going out with him again... _don't._ We all know he's into you, so it can only get better from here. How do you feel about him?"

Britta kicked at another beer can, which Annie promptly speared with her picker. "I don't know. I mean, the sex is top notch... seriously. He's not selfish in that arena, or any arena. And he wants me to have a good time, even if we're just chillin' at home. I think it's just weird for me because I may still have a bias against him from last year."

"You mean, from when he was your therapist?"

"Yeah," she replied with a hint of shame in her voice. "I _hated_ him when he was my therapist. He was always tipsy or drunk, and he didn't pay attention half the time. And when I was in his 101 class he stared at me a lot when he was lecturing. I thought that was kind of creepy."

"He doesn't seem to go out much," Annie said with a slight shrug. "Maybe he's out of practice. Or he drinks because he has social anxiety or something."

"Well, he _doesn't_ go out. I think his only friends are me, his neighbor, and Jeff. And his therapist told him he drinks because of his mental health issues... so you would be correct."

"Oooh!" Annie said as her eyes widened. "Jeff! He doesn't know about all this! What are you gonna do?"

Britta shrugged and looked down at the ground. "That's none of his business. If Ian wants to tell him, he can. I'm not gonna."

Annie nudged her friend and winked. “Oooh, so he's _Ian_ now?”

“Yes, Annie, he's Ian now. He thought it was a little weird that I was calling him Professor Duncan while he was nailing me.”

Annie stopped her from elaborating. "All I'm saying is that you should give Professor Duncan the benefit of the doubt. If he starts cutting off locks of your hair while you're sleeping or sneaking a peek in the shower, then I'd maybe think twice about this whole thing. But from what you've told me I don't find anything alarming."

"Yeah, he's not been creepy at home. I wish he would open up more to people like he does to me. He's so different when he's not at Greendale."

Annie stopped walking and grabbed Britta's arm to get her to do the same. "We've established that's all good. But how does he make you _feel_? You haven't answered that yet."

Britta's lip slightly quivered at the question. She got a funny fluttering feeling in her chest when she began to think about Ian on a deeper level. "How do I... feel?"

Annie nodded, almost impatiently.

"How do I feel? Well, once I started to look past his creepiness last year..."

"Don't even worry about that," Annie interrupted. "Last year is gone. It's never coming back. How does he make you feel _right now_?"

Britta sighed. "He makes me feel... wanted, for once. Everything is done with me in mind. Sometimes that's uncomfortable, but I think it's because I'm not used to having anyone care for me like he does."

Annie made a hand motion that encouraged her to continue with that train of thought.

"He lets me be... me. He's patient and gentle. He's understanding, and kind... truly kind. And when he laughs... I don't want him to stop. It's so pure, Annie, I don't know what to think."

Annie tilted her head as she listened. "I think you know what you think. It _sounds_ like you may have feelings for him."

"Well shit, I guess I do!" Britta replied as tears began to well up in her eyes. "But I'm afraid of saying that to him, in case this all goes to hell. Either one of us could fuck this all up easily - my need for independence and my lack of self-confidence, or his alcoholism and mental issues. I don't want to hurt him, Annie."

" _But_..."

"But... I really like hanging out with him."

"Then _hang out_ with him!" Annie nearly shouted excitedly. "Just let it all happen. Be in the moment. If it works out, then it works out. If not, then at least you tried, right? Give the guy a chance!"

Britta wiped a tear from her eye before she chuckled. "'Be in the moment?' I think you spent a little too much time with Vaughn last year."

They both erupted in laughter. Then Annie got close to where only Britta could hear her.

“So, what is his – you know – like? His... doohickey?”

Britta's cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “Annie!” she blurted while she swatted her on the arm.

"I'm just curious! I mean big nose, big hose, right?”

Britta began to walk past her friend. “I'm gonna ignore that.”

“Well, obviously you like it, otherwise you wouldn't do it with him!” she replied before running to catch up with Britta. “Hey, wait!”

\---

"Your story checks out," Pat said to Ian at almost the same time.

Duncan nodded as he sipped from his comically large wine glass. "Why would I indulge the facts?" he said.

Pat shrugged. "Maybe to build up your ego?"

Ian shakily waved him off. "Naaaaah. My ego was destroyed at Oxford."

"Well, the facts are there: you and Britta both had a great time last night. What's next? Is there a second date?”

“Probably. She was joking when she said she would think about it... at least I hope she was joking. But she doesn't seem like she wants to stop doing the Yankee Doodle, so I don't think I've fucked it all up entirely.”

“You still crazy about her?"

Duncan sighed then turned his head to look at his neighbor. "Goddddd yes," he moaned. "She's perfect."

Pat wagged his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. "Dare I say it: is it love?"

Ian's eyes widened almost to the size of Annie's. “What? Now I didn't say anything about...”

Pat laughed at his reaction. “I'm sorry I scared you like that, man. Maybe that's not the right word to use at this moment. But maybe down the road...”

“Maybe. I'm just so hesitant to use _that word_. Last time I said that to someone, well, you know what happened.”

Pat sipped the last of his wine. “I do. But this isn't that situation. Britta told me she really enjoyed last night. Just give her a chance.”

Duncan stared at his neighbor, as he himself finished off his drink.

\---

Ian spent the rest of that morning thumbing through a long-forgotten academic tone that rested on his bookshelf. He was too nervous to do anything else at that moment, but the second – and third – glass of wine helped lubricate his self-esteem to an extent.

His heart seemed to shoot to the top of his throat when he heard the front door unlock. He looked up and saw Britta take off her sneakers. "Hi," he said to her when she finally looked up, and their eyes met.

"Hi," she said back. "Did you sleep okay?"

Ian nodded and closed the book. "I did. How were your chats with Pat and Annie?" he asked, knowing full well what had transpired between the three.

Britta entered the living room but stopped a few paces short of the couch. "I'd say they were pretty productive."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I know we talked about taking it slow but I don't want to leave any doubts. I really did have fun last night and I'd love to go on that second date."

Duncan swiftly stood up from his recliner but didn't approach her. Instead, he nervously nodded his head. "That's great."

She smiled. "Yeah."

He then motioned toward the couch, wordlessly encouraging her to sit down with him. "You weren't exactly hesitant on the idea before, but I'm quite eager to know what the deciding factor was."

Britta reached for one of his hands as they both sat down. Ian stared at their conjoined hands as she answered. "Annie was a big help there. She really likes the idea of us, and she thinks that it won't hurt for me to try this out."

His breath hitched in his throat as he tried to speak. "But do _you_... like the idea of _us_?" he finally uttered.

She squeezed the hand that she held. "I still have my reservations, but I want to at least give you a chance."

Duncan tilted his head. His mouth turned downward slightly. "What sort of reservations?"

"I've been by myself for so long, really ever since I dropped out of high school. I've had to learn to make it out there on my own, and I've gotten used to being independent. I still don't want to be completely tied down by a serious relationship."

His frown faded somewhat. "I understand," he replied softly. "I've been on my own ever since granddad died. It's nice to be unencumbered sometimes. But other times I think it would be nice to have someone to share my life with, someone to care about me."

"I _do_ care about you," Britta countered. "It's just... I'm afraid of hurting you if this doesn't work out."

Ian sighed. "I don't blame you. I _am_ depressed, after all. But doing the things we've done has made me happier. I enjoy being with you in whatever capacity."

"Same," she said.

"And... you know I don't want to hurt you."

Britta smiled at him. "Agreed," she said through a chuckle.

"We're both adults, capable of making adult decisions. We both know this may not end the way we want to. But I want to try it out, and it appears you do too. So I don't see the problem here."

"Just know I might get freaked out if this gets too relationship-y too quickly," she warned. "It's not you, I'm just not used to all that mushy stuff."

Ian threw up his hands. "Hey, no need to tell me twice. I get it! I'm a little out of my comfort zone here, too!"

Britta noted internally that she felt a twinge of sadness when he pulled his hand from hers. But she tried not to show her disappointment. "So we agree: we need to take it slowly, right?"

Duncan nodded. "I won't force you to do or say anything you don't want to. All I want is a chance."

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. "And I promise I'll be open-minded when it comes to all this."

Ian brushed back a strand of her hair from her face. A mischievous grin marked his face at that moment. “But are you open-minded to the idea of some mid-morning coital escapades?"


	12. Chapter 12

"Let me seeeeeee it!" Britta whined in a voice that was more reminiscent of Annie.

 

They were both on their third glass of wine by that point, and had squirmed from the couch to a spot right in front of the cabinet that mostly held Ian's vinyl records. 

 

He squinted his eyes and curled his mouth upward in a teasingly cruel grin. "And why should I do that?"

 

"Because... I haven't been mean to you in awhile!"

 

He sighed. "I guess I'll oblige, but only if you promise not to laugh."

 

Britta clapped her hands excitedly as Duncan opened the cabinet, reached into it, and pulled out a rectangular box. He sighed as he took the lid off, then pulled out a large leather-bound book and gently handed it to her.

 

"I promise," she added before slowly turning back the cover. She was greeted with a series of pictures of the same smiling and giggling baby boy.

 

"Aww!" she cooed in the trademark tone the women of the study group adopted. "Look at how happy you were!"

 

Ian blushed as she continued to flip through the pages and carefully study each picture of his life. Pictures of him reading Paddington books with his new glasses, dressing as a cowboy with his granddad, and playing football with the neighborhood boys in a grimy English street.

 

But there were also photos that told another story: a toddler sleeping in a hospital bed while a dark haired woman knitted a tiny red-and-white striped scarf nearby. The same woman in a different scene, holding up a cupcake with a candle in it to the same little boy in another hospital bed. Below it a note in pencil: 'Ian Phillip Davies Fifth Birthday - 5 October 1982'.

 

Britta frowned, then looked up at him. "What happened?" she asked in a whisper.

 

Duncan ducked his head and sighed again. "I was very sick when I was little," he explained. "I was in and out of hospital for a few years."

 

"But you're okay now, right?"

 

He nodded. "Perfectly healthy, minus the depression and addiction."

 

"So I thought your last name was Duncan, not Davies."

 

Ian swirled the wine around in his glass. "Davies was my father's surname," he explained. "When I came to live with granddad I had it changed to Duncan, my mum's surname."

 

Britta continued to stare at him. "You're not cool with your dad, are you?"

 

He shook his head, and that was all she needed to know then. "I'm not cool with my dad, either," she replied before she resumed flipping through the scrapbook. She had to contain her laughter when she spied a picture of Ian in college: acne-laden, mullet-crowned and smiling against large-rimmed glasses.

 

"You can laugh if you want," he said before taking another sip of his wine. "Wasn't my finest hour."

 

"I'll show you my sixth grade yearbook one of these days," Britta offered as a peace gesture. "We've all had our awkward phase."

 

"That was college, for me."

 

"Late bloomer?"

 

"Not exactly," Duncan explained as he reached over and flipped the page to more pictures of him during his Oxford days. "I skipped a few levels when I was younger. I'm a lot smarter than I let on and spent a lot of time in bed during my sick years, working on schoolwork and reading whilst my mates were enjoying holiday. I was allowed to attend university a bit early."

 

Britta smirked, then laid her eyes on a picture that caught her attention more than any of the others. Sandwiched between two photos of a teenaged Duncan playing soccer was a shot of him in a grass-stained red jersey and white shorts (very short shorts, leaving nothing to the imagination), with his arm around a beautiful brunette. He was always able to get girls well out of his league, it seemed.

 

Her eyebrow arched up curiously. "Who's this?" she asked him with a nudge. "She's a knockout."

 

A sad smile crossed his face. "Adya Shah," he replied softly. "She was my girlfriend during my first and second years. We bonded over the fact that we both came to university early, and things went from there."

 

Britta regarded his reaction to the photo with some concern. "If you don't want to talk about it..."

 

"No, it's all right! I'm over it. She left Oxford before fall semester, 1994. No note, no phone call. I never heard from her again. None of our friends knew where she went, and if they did they didn't tell me."

 

"Have you ever tried to find her?"

 

He shook his head. "It was too painful at the time. I was hopelessly in love with her and too deep in denial."

 

A lump formed in her throat. "Has there been anyone since? Anyone you... loved?"

 

He shook his head again. "I've been too scared to commit to another person. Even this situation between us... is terrifying to think of, sometimes. But you're not like the others... not even like Adya."

 

Britta's hands were shaky, and she wanted to cry for him. "Oh, Ian..."

 

He stared into her face. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm an adult. I'm willing to take a chance on this. I  _want_ to do this."

 

Her lip quivered. "I don't think I should drink anymore tonight. I'm getting too emotional."

 

Duncan smiled and grabbed her wine glass, pouring the remainder of its contents into his glass. "Wanna show me that yearbook, now?" he asked, attempting to lighten the mood. "I'm curious to see if you've always been a rebel or if you tried to run with the 'it' girls at one point in your life."

 

Britta laughed. "You showed me yours, now I'll show you mine. But I'm gonna warn you: it's gonna be a lot of flannel and teased hair! It  _was_ 1992, after all."

 

\--- 

 

_"How could he do this to me?" she yelled out in the quad as Shirley Bennett attempted to calm her down. She had just stormed out of the cafeteria after Vaughn Miller embarrassed her in front of the whole school with his terrible reggae song about dumping her just days prior._

_"I don't know, sweetie, but I'm glad you're not with that tiny nippled freak anymore. Greener pastures, Britta. Greener pastures."_

_"But he's got the whole school against me with that shitty song!"_

_Shirley looked at her hands as she wrung them, trying to think of anything to say to her friend. "I know, honey. Maybe you should talk to Professor Duncan about it? He can help you get through this. It's his job."_

_Britta huffed. "His job is to half-ass listen and stare at my chest while I tell him my deepest darkest secrets!" she remarked. "Why should I listen to anything_ he  _says?"_

_Shirley shrugged. "He's not in the study group, so he'll be a little more objective. I know he creeps you out but he's also trying to help you."_

_Britta frowned at the revelation, but deep down she knew Shirley was right. "You're on to something there. I think I will go talk to him."_

_Things did not seem to get better after she went to talk to Duncan. People were still walking around singing and humming "Gettin' Rid of Britta" in the hallways and on the quad. Duncan suggested she talk to Vaughn about the song, ask him why he felt compelled to say what he did, and whether they could 'talk it out' (_ what a load of crap!  _Britta remembered saying to herself as her anger was now partially directed at her therapist). So when she spotted Vaughn strumming on his guitar in the hippies' corner of the quad, she decided to confront him._

_"Vaughn, I think we need to talk," she said calmly once she got in his earshot._

_His reaction startled her instead._ _"You need to tell your new boy toy to lay off!" he nearly screamed as he ripped the guitar from his shoulders and flung it to the grass._

_"What are you even talking about?" she said, trying to remain calm yet slightly fearful he was referring to Jeff. "You're the one putting me on blast in front of everyone!"_

_"Drunken Duncan," he replied in a sour tone. "He's making fun of my song! And he attacked me!"_

_"What? I have nothing to do with him outside of therapy."_

_Vaughn huffed in disbelief. "That's not the vibe I got earlier," he said as he crossed his tan arms over his bare chest. "He tried to trip me in the hall, and he was humming 'Gettin' Rid of Britta'. You put him up to this. Toxic attracts toxic, Britta."_

_"I most certainly DID NOT!" she yelled, losing patience with him. "I didn't tell his drunk ass to do that."_

_"But you talked about the song in your little therapy session, didn't you? I just know you went and talked to him."_

_"Well, yeah, I did," she said in a lowered tone. "But I was telling him how much that song hurt me."_

_"Whatever," he mumbled before bending over to pick up his guitar from the ground. "I've got band practice. Lates."_

_Britta watched as Vaughn stomped off toward the Fine Arts building, then felt uncontrollable rage rising for Duncan._

_Ian was enjoying a nap during his 'office hours' when Britta stormed into his office and slammed the door behind her. Startled, he knocked over an empty wine bottle that had been on his desk for a few days._

_"What the bloody hell," he muttered as he took the sleep mask off his face and began fumbling around for his glasses. His eyes widened when he put them on and saw Britta standing near the door. "M-Miss Perry, what's the meaning of this?"_

_She quickly closed the gap and slammed her hands on his desk, making him wince. "You're a real piece of work, you know that, Duncan?"_

_"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," he replied sleepily._

_"I'm talking about Vaughn, dumbass!"_

_Ian shrugged before she continued. "You tried to trip him. And you were humming his song. Or were you blacked out when you did it?"_

_Duncan flung his body up with enough force to knock his chair over. Britta stepped back slightly, and was taken aback at his uncharacteristic show of anger. His face was flushed with rage at the accusation. "Don't you DARE say another word to me!" he said through clenched teeth. Britta cringed at the strong smell of booze on his breath, as well as the way he punctuated every word with a furious pointing motion. "You are WAY out of line right now, Britta."_

_"Screw you," she whispered, too frightened to say anything else._

_Ian pinched at the bridge of his nose, then pointed toward the door. His rage was beginning to subside. "Get out," he commanded. "We can talk about this when we've both calmed down. But you need to leave right now."_

Britta sat up in bed as that memory faded with her sleep. A slight headache loomed from the wine consumed the night before. The more she was learning about Ian Duncan, the more guilt began to pile up on her subconscious. That guilt seemed to accelerate after she saw the pictures of the sick little boy in the scrapbook. He had already been tossed about too much by the tempests of life, and she wasn't helping every time she blew up at him during therapy.

 

"Man, I was horrible to him," she said to herself, hoping that would assuage her guilt. She knew he had forgiven her for all the crap she had put him through during their sessions, yet she still made a mental note to once again apologize for her crass behavior nonetheless.

 

It was still dark outside, so Britta laid her head back down on the pillow, allowing foggy notions of a dark-haired British man to linger in her mind as she drifted back to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

More rain continued to fall as summer began its retreat. That meant more time spent indoors than out. Britta began to notice that Ian was getting restless during those damp days. He loved riding around Riverside on his bicycle, as it helped lighten his mood, but only when the roads were dry ("I can't trust Denver drivers," he once told her).

Unfortunately, that time away from the bike meant he tended to fall back on alcohol even more than what was normal for him. That usually triggered the awkward Duncan that everyone at Greendale knew (and not really loved). But he no longer adopted his creepy characteristics around her. At home, he mostly stumbled his words and sometimes even drifted in and out of consciousness. In a way, Britta felt honored that he didn't have to try and put up a front for her anymore. They  _were_ dating now - even if that meant many nights getting drunk and high and talking... just talking. 

 

A few days remained until Britta began her second year at Greendale, so she spent an entire day getting ready. She was never one for organization, so she just picked up some pencils and highlighters at the store and threw them - still in their packaging - into her ratty backpack and tossed it all near the door. She did, however, spend a little more time getting her clothes organized and clean. There was no compromise there.

 

She cringed when she heard another cork pop off a bottle in the kitchen as she folded her clothes in the laundry room nearby. "Damn it," she muttered as she briefly clenched a t-shirt. She was not happy that Ian's drinking was accelerating as of late. There were physical activities that could easily have been done indoors (some she was sorely missing, herself), yet he decided to expend his energy getting drunk in the middle of the day.

 

She heard the careless and uneven shuffling of feet as Duncan poked his head in the laundry room. "Say summat, dear?" he asked with a slight slur in his speech. When she turned to look at him Britta noticed his eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids heavy. He wore a shitfaced grin sandwiched between deep dimples. He was definitely not in a good way.

 

"Nope, just talking to myself," she replied curtly. 

 

Ian braced his body against the door frame. "Need sm'help?" he offered.

 

"No."

 

He frowned at the very brief rejection. "Wh-whas wrong?"

 

She sighed, then placed her now-crumpled shirt on top of the dryer. "You're drunk, Ian. How can you possibly think you're going to help me in  _your_  condition?"

 

He slumped slightly against the door frame. "Wh-wha you mean,  _my_  condition? Iss not bloody rocket surgery, is it?"

 

"I think I've got it. Thanks though."

 

Ian shakily waved her off out of frustration, then began to stumble off toward God knows where. "Yeahyeahyeah," she heard him mutter as the slide of his footsteps faded.

 

Britta shook her head. She refused to engage a drunk Duncan in any sort of argument and continued folding the rest of her laundry.

 

She couldn't help but think of the state he was in at that moment, but she also had an idea as to the circumstances surrounding his desire to drink himself into mental oblivion. She indirectly knew that his father was kind of a piece of shit (though she knew not the extent of his shittiness), that Ian had been sick for much of his youth, and that he had love ripped from him at such a formative time in his life. 

 

_I don't want to give him a pass on his drinking, but I should try to be there for him more when he's sober so he's not so tempted to reach for the stuff,_ she said to herself as she paired the last sock with its mate.  _I should go check on him._

 

Britta drifted through the house until she found Ian sprawled out on the couch in the living room. He had attempted - and failed - to get past the first page of an academic journal where it lay on his stomach, gently rising and falling with each breath. He was snoring, but not too loudly. Any sort of stress from everyday life was wiped clean from his face; he may have been drunk but at least he was at peace in his slumber.

 

She sighed, mostly out of relief, then walked to what was now known as her bedroom and grabbed a blanket from the closet. When she returned to the living room she regarded his messily situated form then threw the blanket over his body after retrieving the academic journal from his stomach and placing it on the coffee table.

 

"Good night, Ian," she whispered before kissing his cheek. She slowly removed the glasses that still rested on his face and placed them on top of the journal.

 

She walked out to the front porch and once she closed the door behind her, took out her Totorola and called the first person she could think of. The only person she felt could listen to her without judgment. 

 

"Hey girl," Annie said in a cheerful voice on the other end of the line. "What's up?"

 

"Can I talk to you about something?" Britta asked. "Only you would understand."

 

Annie was at the house within the hour. Britta was still out on the front porch; by then she was sitting in a chair watching the street and the yards in the neighborhood grow soggier from the rain. It seemed as though the whole world was melancholy then, except for Annie. She wore a bright blue floral top and a red flowing skirt with matching red ballet-style flats. Raindrops couldn't dampen her mood; they couldn't even frazzle her hair ( _how is THAT possible?_ she asked herself as she subconsciously twirled at a strand of hair near her cheek).

 

Annie sat down next to her friend and let the silence settle between them. That's what Britta could appreciate about her: she was patient. 

 

Britta turned her head to look at Annie, who was looking at her. "I'm worried about Ian," she said. "He's been drinking A LOT lately."

 

"I thought he drank all the time?" Annie asked honestly with a shrug and a slight smile. 

 

Britta bit her bottom lip. "I mean, yeah, he'll have a few glasses of wine a day. That was pretty normal. But lately, his drinking has gotten crazy. Including some harder shit. He's passed out on the couch in the front room."

 

Annie checked the time on her watch. She raised her eyebrow when she noted that it was still pretty early for someone to be properly drunk. "What do you think is going on? Do you think he's nervous about this thing he has with you?"

 

Britta shrugged. "Dunno, maybe. We haven't talked about  _that_ at all. He hasn't been able to go out on his bike, and I know that's bummed him out. He's just been sitting around doing nothing but drinking and reading his boring ass academic journals."

 

Annie narrowed her eyes, deep in thought, then she stood up and headed for the front door. "I have an idea. Come with me."

 

Britta acquiesced and they walked inside. After they both took off their shoes Britta showed Annie to the front room where Duncan still slept on the couch. 

 

Annie studied him with a fondness that Britta couldn't quite replicate, almost as if she had grown to like him herself. "He looks so different without his glasses," she remarked. "Kinda cute, actually. I can see why you're with him."

 

That earned a swat on the arm from Britta. "Hey, watch it!" she warned. "I'm not into all that superficial cutesy shit like you are. He's so much more than that. But, hey, what's this big idea you have?"

 

Annie knelt next to where Ian's head lay and studied him some more. Britta looked on with some curiosity and even more suspicion. "What are you doing?" she whispered. "I don't know if you're even supposed to be in the house."

 

"I'm not a stray cat, Britta," Annie whispered back with some annoyance. Then she turned her attention back to Duncan and reached for his shoulder. She nudged him gently.

 

"Professor Duncan?" she said slightly above a whisper before she nudged him again. "Professor Duncan, I really need to talk to you."

 

He slowly opened his eyes and exhaled tiredly. When he looked up and saw Annie staring at him, Ian blinked his red eyes rapidly and struggled to gather up a coherent response. At that point, he was unsure if he was still asleep or not.

 

"Annie?" he whispered. He squinted his eyes, mostly because he was sans glasses ( _who took my sodding glasses off?_ he wondered to himself).

 

"Hey, Professor Duncan," she whispered back with a smile. 

 

Britta frowned and maybe felt a little jealous (maybe). How was it so easy for Annie to be so affectionate - even with someone who wasn't even considered a casual acquaintance - when she struggled with anything beyond a hug?

 

"I was wondering if you could help me?" Annie continued. "Maybe pencil me in for some therapy sessions? I could really use some impartial advice."

 

Ian wiped the sleep from his eyes and sat up on the couch. The sight was breathtaking to Britta: he was probably at his most vulnerable then. In his disorientation, he possessed no malice, no awkwardness, no failure of expectation. His heart was wide open and receptive to others with no conditions. She wanted to cradle that heart and envelop him with her trust and maybe other feelings that she was certainly not ready to identify, even to herself. She was certain she couldn't possess or be possessed, but briefly found it tempting to publicly proclaim that she was his. She couldn't imagine finding fulfillment in anyone else...

 

He looked at Britta with a quizzical look on his face, as if he wanted her to say something - anything - to him. She turned away on instinct, pained that she suddenly lacked the courage to kiss him in front of her friend, or even greet him.  _Maybe he'll forget this moment..._

 

Duncan blinked then turned his attention back to Annie, who still knelt by the couch and waiting patiently for him to respond. "I, uh, I might... be able to," he stuttered, still struggling to wake up and drowning in a horrific hangover. Annie ignored the fact that his breath reeked of old booze.

 

"I mean, you were such a great help to Britta last year, I trust you with helping me too."

 

Britta scoffed - maybe a little too loudly - but Ian didn't seem to notice.  _Sure, he's helpful when he's not drinking,_ she said to herself, cognizant of the old booze smell as well.  _Good luck with that, Annie._

Ian rubbed his chin and finally noticed that a blanket was covering part of his body ( _where in the bloody hell did THAT come from?_ ). "Um, yeah. I... I can get you in for... a few." Then he miraculously shed his hangover and suddenly became alarmingly coherent. "When did you get here? And how do you know where I live?"

 

Annie smiled at him. "Britta told me, silly. Is that okay?"

 

Duncan nodded, then lost all coherence again. "I... yeah?"

 

Both of the women giggled. Ian's heart skipped a beat when his eyes once again rested on his lover-of-sorts.  _God, Britta is so beautiful_...

 

Britta smirked. "So, Ian, there you go. You may not get to ride your bike but you can flex your psychological muscle. You have something to do during your suspension!"

 

"Oh, that's right!" Annie remarked. "How long are you suspended?"

 

Ian shook his head. He was so confused in his booze-soaked haze. "I, uh, I dunno. Craig... didn't say. I should call him. But for now, you can come over tomorrow... any time after, 11 am, I guess."

 

Annie stood up and clasped her hands together. "Professor Duncan, I'm SO excited that you're going to help me! But, I've gotta run. School supply shopping is serious business. See ya tomorrow!"

 

As Annie spun on her heels to head for the door Britta pointed her thumb toward the front door and finally addressed Ian. "I'm gonna make sure she knows how to get back to the highway," she explained before she too turned and headed for the door. She didn't leave even a spare moment for him to say anything to her. Was she still a little aggravated with him? A little.

 

Once they were outside, Britta reached for Annie's shoulder. "What was that all about?" she asked bewildered. "What are you two even gonna talk about?"

 

Annie shrugged. "I'll figure that out as we go along. And, you're welcome! His breath stunk, Britta. He's gotta lay off the booze."

 

"You're tellin' me! You really think this is gonna work?"

 

"I'm sure I have  _something_  I need to get off my chest. That's worth at least one session, and one day where he's not falling down drunk."

 

Britta nodded then hugged Annie. "Thank you, friend. I owe you one. I'll see you in a few days."

 

Annie hugged her just a little tighter. "You don't owe me anything. Call me if you need anything else, and I mean it."

 

Britta watched her friend get in her car then drive off. She sighed. She still didn't have any desire to talk to Ian when she went back inside. So, she walked back to the front porch and sat on one of the chairs. She didn't care if he was watching her from the front room; she needed to ponder everything that just happened with Annie.

 

Surely her friend had no ill intentions. That went against everything Annie was all about. But maybe she really had a few issues that she needed to discuss with a neutral third party. That seemed the more probable answer.

 

But what if she also gets close to Ian? What if she... develops  _feelings_ for him, too? Britta clenched her fists, mostly because she was getting irritated at how much that possibility bothered her. Then she took a few deep breaths and re-centered. 

 

_Ian likes me,_ she had to remind herself.  _He's dating_ me.  _Annie probably still has a crush on Troy._   _Nothing's going to happen._

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any constructive criticism. Thank you for reading! More to come.


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